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A Matter of Conscience .... 

This is April 

" September the First and June the Second. 


Darky Superstition ...... 


A Red Carnation 


Why He Liked Her 

Correspondents : In Hildesheim . 


Free Press 


Book Reviews 

Books Received 

College Notes 

Society Notes 

College Bulletin 

Alumnae Notes 



Margaret Josephine Holley 

Mary E. Shoemaker, '97 

L. B. A., '97 . 

M. O. Malone . . 

Margaret E. Starr . 

Jessie E. Wagner, '99 

Julia D. Randall, '97 

Augusta Pratt Fordham, '91 

E. L., '96 ... 

M. A. D., '96 . 

Emilie Wheaton Porter . 


idol w — Hpril, 1896 — -mo. i 

Entered In the Post Office at Wellesley, Mass., as second-class matter . 





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The Wellesley Magazine. 

Vol. IV. WELLESLEY, APRIL 18, 1896. No. 7. 








The Wellesley Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors 
chosen from the Senior Class. 

All literary contributions may be sentto Miss. G. M. Dennison, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All items of college interest, and communications to be inserted in the department of Free Press, 
will be received by Miss Mary Haskell, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All alumnae news should be sent to Miss Maude R. Keller, Wellesley, Mass. 

Advertising business is conducted by Miss Annie H. Peaks, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Subscriptions to the Magazine and other business communications should in all cases be sent to 
Miss Cora F. Stoddard, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Terms, $2.00 per year; single copies, 25 cents. Payment should be made by money order. 


We are often told that until the latter half of the nineteenth century, the 
world devoted itself to the saving of its own soul, but that since the fifties 
this bugbear has disappeared and in its stead we have "a passion for human- 
ity." If this were true, our " moral predicament " would not be immitigable, 
but we all know that both of these bugbears are present with us. When 
we are in despair over the impossibility of satisfying the demands of the two 
monsters, we find a momentary consolation in the thought that there is no 
such thing as a conflict of duties. We are, however, immediately plunged 
into new throes by the difficulty of seeing the real duty. Then we wonder 
if after all it does not consist in simply living out our own lives as completely 
as possible, and if, in doing this, we are not taking the surest way of helping 
the world along. 

These questionings come to us with especial insistence after we have been 
reading Thoreau, because he seems to be an example of what a man can ac- 


complish for the world by living his own life. Though there are none who will 
question that Thoreau rendered a genuine service to mankind in writing his 
books, there will be many to ask whether he might not have written his 
books even if he had cherished his own individuality less tenaciously. If 
Thoreau had lived a different life, he might have written something, certainly, 
but he would not have written these books, whose charm is unique and with- 
out which we should be the poorer. Though the fact that Thoreau, by living 
his own life in his own way, was enabled to confer a favor upon mankind, 
does not show that any other man by pursuing the same course is going to 
meet with the same success, it is interesting as illustrating what may be the 
results of such a course, and it is the more interesting for the reason that 
Thoreau was not a genius. It is because Thoreau was not a genius, and that 
his work was the inevitable outcome of his life, that we regard him as an 
example of individualism. 

In saying that Thoreau is not a genius we are expressing an opinion but 
recently formed. For a long time we were overawed by the man's own opin- 
ion of himself, and it was only after learning that Emerson once said that 
Thoreau was not so great a genius as he thought himself that we gained 
courage to look squarely in the face his claims to the title. The decision 
that his claims were insufficient was not reached after any close and cogent 
line of reasoning, but by a course of reflection which, though devious, was 
not the less convincing. 

If Thoreau is a genius, we asked, to what class does he belong — the sane 
or the insane? For although every genius is a law unto himself, we conceive 
that all literary geniuses may be put in either the one or the other of these 
categories. Shakespeare and Wordsworth are examples of the former sort ; 
Shelley and Poe of the latter. He is a sane genius who has many different 
qualities developed to a high and equal degree of perfection ; he is an insane 
genius who has one quality developed to an extent abnormal and out of pro- 
portion to his other faculties. A sane genius is characterized by breadth as 
well as depth, whereas the genius who is not sane makes up for his lack of 
breadth by superior intensity. The former usually gives us a large amount of 
work on various subjects, all of a high quality ; the latter gives us work that 
is small in quantity, restricted in range, but of the finest quality. With the 
works of wdiich kind of genius must those of Thoreau be placed? 


■ 1 ■ 

In quantity, Thoreau's work is not large. Only two of his books, 
" Walden " and " A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers," were 
published during his lifetime. Since his death, however, his notes have been 
collected into eis;ht volumes. That the volumes should number ei°;ht is a 
monument to the enterprise of his editor, for there are many parallel pas- 
sages in the different volumes. As all his books are made up of notes from 
his journal, the publication of the journal itself necessitated the repetition 
of passages already issued. In addition to the repetition in different vol- 
umes there is a large amount of it in the same volume. Thoreau's editor is 
even more fond than Thoreau himself of reintroducing his thoughts. Con- 
sidering that all that Thoreau had to say to the world could probably be com- 
prised in five volumes, it cannot be said that his message was long. 

The purport of a message, however, is of more consequence than its 
length, and Thoreau talks to us upon high subjects. All of his writing may 
be included under the heads of criticism, philosophy, and nature. 

In the line of literary criticism Thoreau has not given us much, and what 
he has given us is incorporated in works upon nature. Most of his critical 
essays are found in "A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers," where 
he occasionally stops praising the scenery to praise Homer and Ossian, 
Vergil and Chaucer. These eulogies are generally introduced by reflections 
upon the superiority of works of genius, to those of art merely. He finds 
many more illustrations of genius among old books than among new. There 
are, however, a few new books which, he thinks, resemble the old ; among 
them are the works of Ossian and Sir Walter Raleigh, — an opinion in which 
the rest of mankind does not apparently coincide. It is, however, with 
books universally admitted to be great that he is best acquainted. He dis- 
plays an intimate knowledge and keen appreciation of the world-poets. His 
criticism is of the interpretative kind, but though he interprets apprecia- 
tively, he does not do it inspiringly. Some of the moderns, as, for example, 
Matthew Arnold and Andrew Lang, have a way of praising the Greeks that 
makes us eager to know them ourselves ; but Thoreau does not produce this 
effect. When he praises some one whom we know, as Chaucer and Carlyle, 
we recognize the truth of what he says, and the grace with which he says it. 
We recognize, too, the conservative nature of his opinion ; for the points he 
makes are the ones upon which all of the critics are agreed. When Thoreau 


praises something with which we are not familiar, as Oriental literature, we 
are left coldly indifferent to what he tells us is of such superior value. 

In Oriental literature what Thoreau cares for most is the philosophy. 
It is the religious and moral truth contained therein, rather than the form, 
that interests him. He is fond of making comparisons between the Eastern 
religious systems and the Christian, always to the disadvantage of the latter. 
Indeed, the disrespect with which Thoreau speaks of the Christian religion 
seems unphilosophical. We cannot see that he is any the better a Tran- 
scendentalist for saying things of this sort : " When one enters a village, the 
church, not only really, but from association, is the ugliest looking building 
in it, because it is the one in which human nature stoops the lowest and is 
the most disgraced." He contrasts strongly with Emerson in this respect, 
for Emerson's charity transcends Thoreau's as much as his transcendental- 
ism does. Thoreau's transcendentalism is rather difficult to understand. 
The whole school is cha:acterized by a certain haze, which in the case of 
Thoreau condenses into mist. It is impossible for us to grasp his theory 
of the universe. Whether Nature was his God, or the symbol of some 
higher power, we cannot make out. The general impression which his 
philosophical passages give us, is that they are Emersonian without being 

From his treatment of nature, Thoreau seems to Mr. Channing, one of 
his biographers, to deserve the name of Poet-Naturalist. We fail to see the 
appropriateness of the epithet ; for Thoreau's treatment of nature impresses 
us as being neither poetic nor scientific. While every poet has his own 
way of treating nature, all have enough in common for us to have a distinct 
idea of what a poetic treatment of nature is. In the first place it is sug- 
gestive. A yellow primrose is infinitely more to a poet than a yellow prim- 
rose, and to him "the meanest flower that blows" suggests "thoughts that 
do often lie too deep for tears." Nature with the poet does not begin and 
end in itself; it causes him to soar into the purer ether from which he may 
or may not come back to earth again. Nature with Thoreau does not sug- 
gest a train of images or a line of thought. If it occasionally hints at some- 
thing beyond itself, we have already confessed our inability to comprehend 
what it is. Usually, however, it suggests the superiority of nature over 
man. However profitable this may be, it is not pleasant to hear ourselves 


abused. Then a theme can hardly be said to be suggestive to readers when 
it is always suggestive of the same thing to the writer. We know that 
Thoreau cannot go far in his praise of nature without saying something 
derogatory of man. When a poet deals with nature he arouses in us the 
emotions that nature herself inspires. It is not often that Thoreau does 
this. He does not seem to have an emotional temperament. We cannot 
think of his losing himself in the beauty and mystery of nature. We fancy 
him standing around calmly taking in the different features, and he sees 
them all, even to the tiniest details. He records them, too, with such 
wonderful skill that we see them ourselves. What Thoreau describes we 
see, but do not feel. 

Thoreau himself says that he is not a scientist, and that he never 
systematically studied botany or zoology, but that he only observed plants 
and animals after his own fashion. This fashion seems to us so careful a 
one, that we are surprised to hear from naturalists that he has not discov- 
ered a single new bird, or fish, or plant, and that he is inaccurate in his 
observations of those familiar to scientists. We experience something akin 
to grief when, after we have read in the journal for autumn of Thoreau's 
herculean efforts to see the muskrat build his house, we learn from John 
Burroughs that the muskrat does not build his house in the fall, but in the 
spring ! It reminds us that Emerson says that Thoreau was not naturally 
a keen observer. Since Thoreau has discovered no new law, or relation, 
has not added to the fund of individual facts, and is, moreover, inaccurate, 
we are forced to agree with him that he is not a scientist. 

.Instead of the title of Poet-Naturalist we dislike to substitute one, 
which, though it describes our idea of Thoreau's nature treatment, is yet 
so awkward a term as Realist Naturalist. Yet Thoreau seems to us to do 
for nature what the realist in fiction does for life : to present the appearance 
of things. As the realist selects the appearance of everyday life, so Thoreau 
takes that of everyday nature. No new beauty in heaven or earth he 
discovers for us. He shows us the beauties that all have seen. The pleas- 
ure in reading Thoreau's nature work is one of recognition. We are contin- 
ually reading the description of some sight or sound that we have noticed, 
but have never before seen expressed. The silence' of nature, the appear- 
ance of the night, the beauty of reflections, the freshness of the morning, 


these he is continually noting, and we never tire of reading. It is difficult 
to select quotations, they are so numei'ous and beautiful. As we love the 
appearance of nature, we love the pages in Thoreau where he presents 
it to us. Thoreau again resembles the realistic novelists in that he gives us 
"a slice out of nature," just as they give us "a slice out of life." 
For Thoreau seldom describes a scene to us. He more often gives 
us some feature, or corner of the picture. Oftentimes, when he has made 
us realize to ourselves some isolated object, it becomes something of a 
burden that we have no scene in which to place it, or relate it to other 
objects. In one more respect Thoreau is like the realist novelist. He im- 
agines that by scrutinizing the face of nature he is going to see into her 
soul ; as the realist in fiction thinks by watching the actions of man he is 
going to fathom the depths of his nature. There is a lack of reverence in 
Thoreau's attitude toward nature. He seems to think that by eternal vigi- 
lance he is going to probe her secrets, but the mystery of her being is as 
unexplained, as if Thoreau had not tried to understand it. From his skill 
in reproducing, and his lack of poetic insight, we should say that Thoreau 
is nature's most expert photographer. Although, for the purpose of analysis, 
we have divided the matter in Thoreau's books into criticism, philosophy, 
and nature, all of his books have really but one theme, — himself. In 
criticism it is what he thinks, in philosophy what he feels, in nature what 
he sees. Ostensibly, however, his subject is nature, as the titles of his 
books show. Whether it be nature or himself is, perhaps, of little conse- 
quence, since there is so little continuity in Thoreau's writing. He is, in 
any case, according to our previously stated classification, debarred from a 
place among geniuses. He has but one theme, and cannot, therefore, be 
classed with geniuses who are sane. He treats the one theme in frag- 
mentary fashion, and is hence excluded from the ranks of geniuses who 
are not sane. 

For the fact that Thoreau is not a genius we cannot hold his life 
accountable, but we do think that it is in a large measure responsible for his 
books. Thoreau's life falls naturally into two parts : the years preceding 
and following his Walden hermitage. The retreat to Walden seems to us the 
turning point in his career. Up to this time his life had been as conventional 
as it had been uneventful. He had graduated at Harvard, and had then 


taught school. Two years he spent on Staten Island tutoring the nephews of 
Emerson. He had been writing for the magazines, which declined to publish 
his contributions. He had been in need of money. His letters written at 
this time show that he was as unhappy as many another man who is trying to 
earn his living in an occupation not congenial. He came home from New 
York and made a lead pencil, which, patented, would have insured him a com- 
fortable income. Instead of availing himself of his worldly opportunities, he' 
went to Walden Pond, built himself a shanty and lived a life of solitude. He 
spent only two years at Walden, but after he left he did not materially alter 
his manner of living. In going to Walden, Thoreau seems to have taken the 
first step toward carrying out his resolution to live his own life. In a letter 
written at this time he says, " Most of us are apt to neglect the study of our 
characters, thoughts, and feelings." He seems to have made up his mind that 
it was not right for him to be worrying himself to death teaching children, or 
making lead pencils, when he wanted to be walking over the fields and 
writing in his journal, and that thenceforth he should do what he liked. 
Thoreau tells us that he did not go to Walden as a protest against civilization, 
or to teach men how to live a better life. " I have no designs upon men," 
he says; "I went to transact a little business." And we know now that 
"the little business" was self-expression in every way possible. 

When a man decides that it is his business to follow his own inclinations, 
every act of his life becomes either a solemn duty or a sacred pleasure. 
Everything is then of equal importance to him, and his life loses its perspec- 
tive. It becomes rather amusing to lookers-on to see how seriously he takes 
himself. Such a resolution has the effect of leveling his life. 

This was the effect that it had upon Thoreau. Hitherto his life had been 
made up of the two elements of duty and pleasure. Now it is all duty or all 
pleasure, which we don't know. What he eats for breakfast has become of 
as much importance as what he writes in his journal. He must express him- 
self as much in one as in the other. Thoreau makes it his boast that "others 
trouble themselves that their dinner may cost much, I that mine may cost 
little," and we warrant that the "others " do not spend more time and thought 
to have theirs appetizing and artistic, than Thoreau to make his unpalatable 
and indigestible. He is as particular that his clothes shall be old, as some 
others that theirs shall be new. Everything, the food he eats, the clothes he 


wears, together with the cost and manner of obtaining both, are of importance 
inasmuch as they relate to himself. Since everything is important, nothing 
is too insignificant to record, and hence we have Thoreau's books, a com- 
pendium of his thoughts, feelings, and actions. 

Although his life furnished the material for his books, Thoreau did not 
live this life of communion with nature for the sake of writing his books. 
The writing was with him a part of the living, the final stage in every 
experience. He spent half of his days and nights out of doors, and if he had 
not written some account of each day's experience, his life would have been 
little better than a tramp's. Thoreau, however, had the artist's desire for 
self-expression, and all of his sensations end in a tangible result. He 
followed the advice which he once gave to a young man : "Let me suggest 
a theme for you," he says, " to state to yourself precisely and exactly what 
that walk over the mountain amounted to for you, returning to this essay 
again and again, until you are satisfied that all that was important in your 
experience is in it. Give this good reason to yourself for having gone to the 
mountain. Don't suppose that you can tell it precisely the first dozen times 
you try, but at 'em again, especially when after sufficient pause you suspect 
that you are touching the heart or summit of the matter, reiterate your blows 
there and account for the mountain to yourself. Not that the story need be 
long, but it will take a long while to make it short." The length of Thoreau's 
walk, Emerson tells us, made the length of his writing. We should not have 
his books if he had not had his walks. 

AVhile his life is thus directly responsible for the matter of Thoreau's 
books, it is only indirectly responsible for their style. For "the style is the 
man," and his life affects it through his character. 

In spite of the fact that Thoreau has written about himself in ten 

volumes, we find it difficult to say what kind of man he is. No sooner do 

we gain one impression of the man than it is destroyed by another of the 

opposite nature. When he says : — 

" Great God, from thee I ask no meaner pelf 
Than that I may not disappoint myself," 

we think that he is an egoistic, self-sufficient creature who is o-oing to do 
lofty things because he owes it to himself. But when he says, "I never 
dreamed of any enormity greater than I have committed. I never knew and 


never shall know a worse man than myself," we think he is an essentially 
modest man, distrustful lest he may not live up to his high ideal. At times, 
when we read his journal, we are filled with admiration for a man who had 
the courage to live as he thought he ought, regardless of the opinion of his 
fellow-man. Soon, however, we begin to think that he is not at all regard- 
less of his neighbors' opinions, and furthermore that he was anxious they should 
think him eccentric. The pains that he takes to impress upon us his 
indifference to man's opinion cause us to suspect the sincerit}' of his 
protestation. Yet he seems oblivious of all except his own enjoyment when 
he responds to invitations to go upon walks with his friends. "I don't know, 
my walk is very important to me. I haven't any walks to be throwing 
away." Sometimes he seems like a hard, cold, selfish, egoistic man who 
lived upon a high plane himself, and had no sympathy for those struggling in 
the valley below. Again, he appears as shy, timid, reserved, with a warm 
feeling for his fellow-man, but with no talent for showing it and winning 1 their 
love. There seems to be only one point about Thoreau of which we are sure. 
Whether he was serenely right or serenely wrong we can't tell, but there is 
no doubt about his serenity. We can detect no warring of elements in 
Thoreau's character. It is baffling ; but from its simplicity, not its 

We can understand Thoreau's character only by reference to his life 
principle of individualism. This tended to simplify his character so 
far that it almost defies analysis. We cannot separate his virtues and 
his faults into two piles, and then stand oil* and see which is the bigger. 
While we are in the act of putting down a virtue, it has changed into a 
fault, and in the same way a fault seems suddenly transformed into a virtue. 
Thoreau had no vices, and his faults were only virtues carried too far. 
His modesty degenerated into self-consciousness ; his self-reliance into ego- 
tism ; his devotion to his own ideal into intolerance and a desire for origi- 
nality. Thoreau shows us that there is infinite peril in being too good, 
and that an entire devotion to our development does not produce a well- 
rounded character. That his character is narrow and contradictory is due 
to the fact that he followed too exclusively his own individual bent. If he 
had thought it necessary to cultivate some of the qualities in which he was 
lacking, as, for example, courtesy, kindliness, sympathy, his character 


would not be the enigma it now is. Its strength and force would not have 
been distorted into harshness and severity. It would have had sweetness, 
as well as purity and strength. As it is, Thoreau's character is so nar- 
row, and the good and bad so inextricably mingled, that we can only say of 
it : it is a paradox. 

Thoreau's style also displays paradoxical qualities. It is at once natu- 
ral and affected, easy and labored, commonplace and original. As we turn 
over the pages of the journal, the phrasing of much of it is as common- 
place as the thought. Entries like the following are not rare: "Perhaps 
the warmest day yet. True Indian Summer. The walker perspires. The 
shepherd's purse is in full bloom ; the andromeda not turned red. I saw 
a pile of snow fleas in a rut in a wood path, six or seven inches long, and 
three quarters of an inch high ; to the eye exactly like powder, as if a 
sportsman had spilled it from his flask ; and when a stick was passed 
through the living and skipping mass each side of the furrow preserved 
its edge, as in powder." This impression of commonplaceness is but mo- 
mentary. We turn over a few more pages and read: "A bewitching 
stillness reigns through all the woodland and over all the snow-clad land- 
scape. Indeed, the winter day in the woods or fields has commonly the 
stillness of twilight. The pond is perfectly smooth and full of light. I 
hear only the strokes of a lingering woodchopper at a distance, and the 
melodious hooting of an owl, which is as common and marked a sound as 
that of the axe or the locomotive whistle ; yet where does the ubiquitous 
hooter sit, and who sees him? In whose woodshed is he to be found?" We 
are charmed by the ease and grace of this style. Apparently the writer 
used the words that came to him first, and though they are commonplace 
words enough, their total effect is one of freshness, as if Thoreau had used 
them for the first time. There are many similar passages which display an 
originality that is not startling, but pleasing ; it seems so spontaneous and 

Thoreau has not, however, the fault of " fatal facility." Though many 
of his individual sentences have a beautiful rhythm, there is never any con- 
tinued flow of words, any more than there is of thought. Much of his 
writing seems to be the result of struggle. His occasionally beautiful pas- 
sages give us an impression of effort, although the only part of the effort 


that is visible is the success. This passage from " Walden " in the essay on 
Ponds, for instance : "A lake is the landscape's most beautiful and express- 
ive feature. It is earth's eye, looking into which the beholder measures the 
depth of his own nature. The fluviatile trees next the shore are the slender 
eyelashes which fringe it, and the wooded hills and cliffs around are its 
overhanging brows." That is like a bit of poetry set in a page of prose. 
One reason it pleases us so much is that Thoreau seems to have had to 
work to put it there, and that he succeeded so well. 

Thoreau often, however, gives us a sense of effort that is not pleas- 
ing. He tries so hard to make paradoxes and succeeds so frequently that 
we become wearied. The better he succeeds the less we like it. When he 
sa}'s, " I liked his looks and the sounds of his silence," and " I never found 
the companion that was as companionable as solitude," we can see the para- 
dox and enjoy it ; but we are bored by the completeness of the following : 
" If the time of this sadness which visits me would only be sadder, it would 
be happier," and " It was so dry, you might call it wet." 

We are wearied by his paradoxes, and furthermore, are irritated by 
his exaggerations. When Thoreau says : "I would rather hear the frogs in 
their pond than the most eloquent man of his age," we know he does not 
mean what he says. Indeed, he tells us that he is a great exaggerator. 
" I pile Pelion upon Ossa in hopes to reach heaven so." Some of us pre- 
fer not to reach heaven by any such distortion of truth, at any rate, such 
cold-blooded distortion. There are men like Carlyle, who, in the stress of 
a giant rage, exaggerate, and carry us on by the wave of their enthusiasm. 
This is not the case with Thoreau. Perhaps it is his lack of passion which 
makes us grow rebellious under the continual paradoxes and exaggerations. 

Nevertheless, there are times when Thoreau's exaggerations amuse us, 
quite as much on account of the spitefulness of the speaker as of the humor 
of his remarks. For example: "There is a certain class of unbelievers 
who sometimes ask me such questions as if I think I can live on vegetable 
food alone ; to strike at the root of the matter at once — for the root is 
faith — I am accustomed to answer such that I can live on board nails ; " 
and again : " The value of a man is not in his skin, that we should touch 
him." We are amused, too, by his reply to some one asking him to make 
a call. "I have never discovered that any exertions of the legs could 


bring two minds nearer together." Thoreau's humor, however, is not in- 
grain ; for it displays itself in only occasional flashes of wit. 

The qualities that please us in Thoreau's style are stronger and more 
prevalent than those that displease. Both, however, have their origin in 
the egotism of the man. The egotism that expresses so incisively, so neatly, 
so precisely its own thought, charms us with its vigor and freshness of 
style ; the egotism that strives to say something startling annoys us by its 
exaggerations. This egotism, the basis of Thoreau's character, was the 
result of his individualism. As an individualist, Thoreau looked at life. 
His attitude shows itself in the books which he has written, — books pos- 
sessed of ugly faults and beautiful virtues ; and also in his character, dis- 
tinguished by pitiable weakness and wondrous strength. These results are 
of the deepest interest to us, because Thoreau, though possessed of ex- 
traordinary ability, was not a genius. His work was the inevitable outcome 
of his life. Margaret Josephine Holley. 


Dr. Craighead and "Rob" Norris, his chum in the old college days, 
were sitting together on the piazza of a big summer hotel, enjoying a quiet 
smoke. From where they sat they could hear the music in the ballroom, 
where most of the guests had gathered for the German. The presence of 
these men, however, was not expected there. Mrs. Craighead was too con- 
siderate to ask her husband to drag his willing but weary frame through the 
figures, and Mrs. Norris was upstairs with a headache which made the 
slightest sound or movement torture. 

"Craighead," said Norris, suddenly, "what makes you so quiet? 
What patient is troubling you now?" 

Dr. Craighead started. " I was only thinking," he said. "I went to 
see one of my patients on the East Side to-day. It seemed so hard, and I 
could do so little. She is a young woman, not more than thirty. The 
husband is dead, and there are three children. She is dying — of con- 
sumption. She has been made as comfortable as possible. There's nothing 
to be done now but wait for the end. And it's not easy to wait for the end 
in a room at the top of an East Side tenement." 


" How long has she been ill?" inquired Norris. 

" Well," said the doctor, reflectively, " about fifty years, I think." 

" Fifty years? I thought you said she was thirty." 

"I did," said Dr. Craighead. "You see, her mother had the disease 
before she was born. She inherited it." 

They smoked on in silence for a few minutes. Then Dr. Craighead 
carefully knocked the ashes from his pipe, laid it in its case, and put the 
whole thing in his pocket. 

"I tell you," he went on, as if they had been talking uninterruptedly, 
" people need to be educated in regard to the laws of disease. Men and 
women who have the slightest reason to believe that they may have inherited 
any such disease as consumption have no right to marry, and hand it down 
to their children. Since it's not a matter of state law, it should be made a 
matter of individual conscience. There ought to be a few more people like 
Marion Reynolds in the world." 

Norris started a little. "Marion Reynolds?" he said. 

" Yes, Marion Reynolds. Jove, man, if you want to see the bravest 
woman I know, except one, of course, just look at Marion Reynolds. Why, 
you used to know her pretty well yourself, didn't you?" 

"Yes," said Norris. "I used to call there. But what about her? 
Why do you think her brave?" 

"Well," began the doctor, slowly, "I'll tell you. You know she and 
my wife are great friends. Last fall, after Marion's aunt died, Helen wrote 
and asked her to stay with us till spring. It was rather early in the winter 
when she came, — just about the time you were married, I think. Yes, I 
remember we got your cards just a day or two after she came." 

Norris puffed vigorously at his pipe, which had almost gone out. Dr. 
Craighead went on, still slowly. " She was completely tired out from 
taking care of her aunt ; but even the absolute rest and change did not seem 
•to make her well. I saw that something was wrong, but of course could 
not suggest anything to my wife's guest until she asked me. Things went 
on, till one day she went way down town to see one of Helen's errand boys, 
who was ill. Helen was off at an unexpected charity committee meeting, 
and so couldn't attend to the charity itself. It began to rain, and Marion, 
who had not even an umbrella, was obliged to walk several blocks before 


she could find a cab. The cabman, with the cabman's usual brilliancy, 
managed to misunderstand her direction, and finally stopped at Fifty-fifth 
Street instead of Thirty-fifth. In the course of time she sjot home ; but not 
before she had taken a very severe cold." 

Dr. Craighead stopped and looked over at Norris. His pipe had gone 
out completely this time. 

" Well," he said, in a tone that sounded to the doctor somewhat con- 
strained, "what has all this to do with bravery and hereditary consumption?" 

" A great deal. As I said, her cold was very severe, and I advised her 
to stay in bed a day or two. She coughed rather badly — a throat cough. 
One day Helen asked me if I were sure the cold had not affected Marion's 
lungs at all. I assured her it had not, and inquired what made her ask. 
She reminded me that Marion's mother and aunt both died of consumption. 
She said she thought Marion was a little worried, so I concluded to satisfy 
them and myself. I examined her lungs and found, as I had expected, that 
they were perfectly sound. I told her so, and that unless she exposed her- 
self foolishly she need never fear the slightest trouble in that direction. 
She turned as pale as if I had told her she hadn't a month to live. I thought 
she was going to make a scene, but she bit her lip till the blood came, and 
then thanked me." 

Norris's pipe fell from his fingers. Neither man noticed it. 

"And then?" he said, in a voice from which all expression was care- 
fully excluded. 

" ' And then ?' There is no ' and then.' It seems that there was a man 
who cared for her. She refused him, because she thought it wrong for any- 
one who might have airy such disease to marry. So much she told Helen, 
but did not wish to tell her who the man was, or anything about him. I 
have told you because it is a case in point, and I knew it would go no 

The doctor rose as he spoke the last word. "Good night, Nor — 
Rob," he said. Norris stood for a moment looking over at the dark pine 
woods. In the darkness and quiet he made no effort to regain his usual 
expression of well-bred nonchalance. Presently he pulled himself together. 

"I wonder how my wife's headache is," he said, and went in. 

Mary E. Shoemaker, '97. 



I will arise and go to meet her, 

As she comes to-day from the Southern slopes, 

With heart and voice attuned to greet her, 

For she holds fast-locked in her hands my hopes. 

Even now her warm breath, 

On cool meadow and stream, 

Turns to soft mists of gray, 

Veiling wreckage of death 

In slow tears, in whose gleam 

Lies a healing for pain. 

Heart, be glad, sing again; 
This is April. 

The brown fields thrill to feel her tripping 
In a rythmic measure their greening ways ; 
From her rosy palms are gently slipping 
The immortal pleasures of spring-born days. 

Swaying tree-tops bend low, 

With their crown of gray-green, 

Just to meet her caress ; 

Shadows come, shadows go, 

As the shimmer and sheen 

Of her breeze-tossed dress 

Catch the glints of the sun. 

Heart, awake; Winter's done; 
Tins is April. 

All night the happy brooks go purling 
Over hidden ways, warbling mystic things 
To shadowy nights of black clouds whirling, 
While a joy-stirred night-bird awakes and sings. 

Oh, the day-dawn is fair! 

All the growing young things, 

Pushing heavenward, fill 

With fine fragrance the air. 

There's a glint of swift wings, 

There's a song-burst — a trill 

Of pure joy up above. 

Heart, look up, sing of love ; 
This is April. 

L. B. A., '97. 



They were the college months she thought of, that beginning and end of 
her " different " life. She had left home two years before, brimming over 
with enthusiastic visions of her all-in-all college life to come, and now it was 
ended. Again she sat at home, at her desk, and looked back upon the old 
dreams, the old thoughts, the old scenes, and for the first time fully realized 
that the keynote of living is change. It was a bit hard to give up the ideals 
to which she had clung: so short a time ago, but best. Through the crowd of 
thronging memories and the pressing present she got a gleam of light for future 
action. It was then that a hopeful, by no means despairing, " This too will 
pass " became her motto. 

For years before she had had so many, many thoughts of college, — col- 
lege women and college life. She had eagerly devoured every bit of infor- 
mation that came her way, had treasured every picture and every prophecy. 
The college itself seemed an ideal spot, with not a blemish to mar its loveli- 
ness. The faculty were master minds, giant intellects. In addition, too, 
they were of her kind ; would be sympathetic, would understand " when the 
world goes wrong — it always does now and then." These women had been 
along this path before ; they knew its hardships, its difficulties. They could 
point out the straight, when all seemed crooked. The wrench from home — 
she had never been away alone before — would not seem great. The present 
helpful intercourse with older friends would be replaced by a new, strange 
at first, but more familiar by and by. Those great, beautiful lives had under- 
taken work in this field for this very purpose, to bring to the younger, the 
untried, the wealth and breadth of their experience and gain. 

The students, coming from all parts of the world, would contribute new 
ideas and earnest ardor to a common fund. Hearty good fellowship between 
representatives of so many environments, so many methods of living, must 
be broadening and invigorating. A common aim would bind them together, 
would amalgamate dissimilar elements. 

Her purpose, as she looked back on it now, seemed comical , — pitiful , rather. 
It had been such a distorted little purpose. Of course, even then she had 
known everything was not to be learned in four years. But she thought at 
least each thing begun would be completed, would be in the end a thing tan- 


gible, a whole. Afterwards they were, I suppose, to have been laid away ; 
packages waiting till called for, neatly tied and labeled. A degree repre- 
sented an indefinable accomplishment. She hoped, too, for success. She 
felt so capable, so ready, so intensely interested. A reasonable amount of 
brains and such an eager love must surely conquer a great deal, she thought. 

She remembered all this so distinctly. It rushed back upon her almost 
as strongly as on that " September the First" day when she drew nearer and 
nearer that spot of her hopeful dreams. Her throat choked with the same 
little feeling of suffocating anticipation. By what degrees the revelation 
came she had never known. Those first days were perfect days, if ever 
there were perfect days. The rich autumnal glow over all the world ; the 
soft, gray days when the rain fell; the warm, intoxicating, full, ripe days, — 
all were beautiful. The buildings, in their largeness, argued an above-little- 
ness in everything. The lake sparkled and rippled and murmured, the wind 
and the hills encircled her with promise, with hope — a hope for a realization 
of those dear, years-old dreams. The people seemed strange ; that was but 
natural. There was, however, no loneliness, no inner, unconfessed disap- 
pointment as yet. 

Now, could she ever forget that " June the Second" day? It was the 
end of her second and last year ; she was telling everything good-by, in her 
heart. The place was still ideal, more beautiful than ever then, in its vivid, 
fresh, green life. Yes, the place had been undisappointing. Throughout 
other changes, it had taken on added charm ; its realization had grown dearer 
with nearness. 

And the faculty? The intellect was there, the varied experience was 
there, but to her the latter seemed folded upon itself, — not self-centered, but 
unused. Its several members seemed like a ring of little islands, encircling 
a wee pond in a mighty sea. In their midst was a bit of land, shifting and 
changing its coast with the years. With one another or with this the sur- 
rounding islands had little or no intercourse. Once in a great while it hap- 
pened that a ship from the busy world signaled to one of the outer group, or 
messages were interchanged between some point of the center land and one 
of the surrounding circle. Beyond these occasional instances there was no 
evidence of ties of any character, linking together island and world, island 
and island, or island and inner land. 


Why should she bother? She had been attended to. She had been ad- 
vised in the hard places. " Oh ! but the others, the lonely, longing others ! 
I don't care for myself. I've always been cared for. But why should I be 
favored and they left to fight alone ? It isn't right ! It isn't right ! They 
don't know what to do, nor how to learn to do." She wanted to take a stick 
and stir up the little pond and make things mix and touch each other. She 
wanted more ships to pass, and she wanted both islands and inner land to 
know more of each other and of the busy world. It was hard, she knew. 
Why should people care for, or help closely, others who came and were gone 
almost before their presence was known. And yet the pity of it all, for 
those who missed and longed for a cordial, helpful relationship with older 

The students ? In a measure that dream had been realized. She had 
known a few well, others in a pleasant, congenial way. People helped one 
another when it was possible, went out of their way when it was consistent 
with work and strength; no more could be asked. A democratic spirit 
prevailed. A girl in the end was usually esteemed for what she really was, 
not for what she had, nor what she did. Mistakes were often made, but then, 
that happens everywhere. At times she grew tired of it all ; people seemed 
narrow, small, wrapped up in one thing, sunk in one rut. But outside in- 
terests would alter that, as they would the loss of perspective and of a sense 
of proportion so often apparent. The metal surely had the right ring. She 
felt that at heart unselfishness characterized the many, thoughtlessness the 

And lastly, how had the purpose survived? "To know" had at first 
been her one aim. "To live " w r as now her goal. She had had her modi- 
cum of success, often she had seemingly failed. But where once her failures 
would have been unbearable, they now appeared in the light of aids to prog- 
ress. They indexed future plans, they pointed out new and better ways. 
How one was regarded, on the whole, mattered little. If one did one's best, 
constantly and conscientiously, if one got what one would not lose for worlds 
after the college life were left behind, it was of little moment whether one 
were thought to have succeeded or to have failed. 

She had, comparatively speaking, learned few facts ; she had completed 
not one of the many subjects she had formerly so fondly hoped to master. 


She had, on the other hand, learned the exceedingly small part books, in and 
by themselves, play in life. She had learned to account living for others, 
in its highest sense, of infinitely more value than a mere acquirement of 
knowledge. As she had bidden it all good-by that " June the Second," she 
had realized that the sheltered college life, though beautiful, was not the 
"all-in-all." But she had also realized its significance in preparation for a 
broader life. Its happiness was to be held in memory to season darker 
hours, its disappointments were to be forgotten. 

M. O. Malone. 


Just one year before the Confederate flag was raised over the South , the mas- 
ter of West End left forever his Colonial home. It was a terrible time to live, 
but worse still to die ; Mr. Leigh said this over and over to himself as rumors 
of the political struggles reached him on his bed. But no earthly physician 
could make him well enough to sit in the legislature again, and so he died. 

Things on the plantation apparently went on the same without him. 
For a whole year he had been gone now, and the slaves sang just as loudly 
in the fields and gardens, the produce vessels went to Baltimore on the same 
days, and the same little humming bird built her nest in his favorite mimosa 
tree. If she chirped a little more plaintively this summer, it was only no- 
ticed by a dark-eyed woman whose robm overlooked the tiny swinging home. 

In the big dining room a boy of eighteen had slipped into his father's 
place at the table. The rest of the family was, in number, three — a woman 
of a little over fifty who sat opposite her son, a girl of twenty-two with au- 
burn hair and dreamy brown eyes, and a child of twelve, — a child whose 
sunny curls seemed hardly able to resist falling into her wide-open blue 
eyes. They were eyes that always laughed, always sparkled, except per- 
haps when she smoothed the ruffles of her tiny black silk apron. There was 
such an open-hearted, inviting expression about her little face that no one 
could help loving and petting her. She loved everybody, but no one quite 
so much as her big; brother, Custis Leigh. 

At last spread the long-awaited but dreadful news that the war had 
really begun. Only one glance at her son, as he breathlessly read the Rich- 
mond paper, decided Mrs. Leigh. A week later she and the boy were on 
their way to Davis Military Academy, North Carolina. It had been a flying 


trip for both of them. Mrs. Leigh had made useless visits to the Virginia 
Military Institute and Blacksburg, which were both crowded. Her son, — 
well, he had been seen four separate times riding along the road to Nan 
Martin's— that's all ! 

For two years and a half all the music of old Virginia had been drowned 
by the thundering bass notes of war. For two years and a half the family at 
West End had managed to live, notwithstanding the impudence of the slaves, 
the bare storehouses, and occasional Yankee visitors. For two years and a half 
Mrs. Leigh had dreaded just what she was sure had happened now. Up the 
broad, gravel walk with rapid, running strides came Custis Leigh. 

" My son ! " 

" Mother, they are drafting the boys, and I came home to join our own 

'Twas November. The boys were at home on a furlough — a ten days' 
furlough. All the years of sorrow seemed forgotten in the merrymaking 
of those ten short days. Such dances, and fox hunts, and candy pulls ! 
Such games, and laughing, and singing the war songs the boys had brought ! 
Surely it must have been a mistake, all that the papers said about Abolition- 
ist parties, and John Brown, and the war. What could they have to do with 
such things ? Ah ! those suits of gray worn so proudly — what connecting 
links they were ! 

Only one more glorious day and they would have to be off again at day- 
break. The event of the last evening was an oyster roast at the Leighs'. 
The chairs were moved back and the rugs taken up in the great dining room. 
Old Uncle Ned and his son, Pete, played such tunes on the fiddle and banjo 
that nothing human could hear and be still. All the place was alive, for 
while " de white folks" danced in the house, a steady shuffling and giggling 
was heard in the kitchen. 

To rest the musicians the gay party finally flocked to the piano. The 
sad war songs rang out without a quiver. While his sister Adelaide sang 
" Who will Care for Mother Now?" Custis crept away to his mother's room. 
He found her thrown down on her couch. He dropped down on one knee 
and took her little trembling hand. 


" Who will care for you, mother dear, if I shouldn't come back?" 

Her voice grew almost fierce with anguish. 

" O my boy," she cried, " if this should come upon me, no living thing 
could comfort me ! " 

The music was over, and Aunt Caroline's dusky face had appeared at 
the parlor door — Aunt Caroline, who had been the family cook for years, and 
was never more delighted than when West End was celebrating a party of 
some kind. Blessed soul ! She scorned emancipation, and no freeing of the 
slaves has ever changed her position in the household. Down to the old 
kitchen they dashed at her summons. There, in the middle of the red-brick 
floor, was a large table, spread with linen from the dining room. An im- 
mense silver candelabrum in the center lighted the room. There were hot- 
house plants at each end and tiny bouquets by the plates. The supper, too, 
was as dainty as Aunt Caroline's skill could make it. But the main feature, 
after all, was the oysters roasted in their shells in the wide-mouthed chim- 
ney. Two little darkies aged twelve and thirteen — they didn't know it 
themselves — heaped the oysters in the glowing ashes, and, when they 
popped, opened them quickly. Two maids waited at their elbows with 
steaming platters covered with drawn butter sauce. The butler hovered 
over the table ready to move at a glance. 

After supper was over the young people still stayed in the bright 
kitchen, and unconsciously grouped themselves into pretty pictures in the 
flickering light. If such pictures could only last ! But most of them fade 
away or vanish in a single moment. Although Custis and Nan Martin had 
chosen a somber corner, little Elizabeth had found them, and, with teasing 
eyes, was begging for "just one more battle story, Custie." Stuart 
Eandolph, Custis's best friend, was just about to steal Adelaide's tiny lace 
handkerchief. Suddenly old Ben, the lord of the stables, banged open the 
door, and wildly brandishing his riding whip shouted, " De Yankees is 
comin' ! Fo' Gawd ! I seen 'em when I was comin' ober frum Cun'l Land's. 
Hurry and git to de stables, quick ! " 

In five minutes the frightened girls sat around Mrs. Leigh in the parlor. 
The Yankees did come, and they did search, but they did not remember 
that stables have a place on most Colonial estates, and that stables are good 
hiding places. 


So they were gone. Only a hasty kiss to his mother and sisters, and a 
hand pressure that meant worlds to — Caroline? — and Custis Leigh was off 
to war again. 

In a fashionable part of Richmond lives Stuart Randolph. He married, 
not Adelaide Leigh, who is Mrs. Lee, now, but little Elizabeth. Three chil- 
dren play in the large nursery, — Elizabeth, Stuart, and baby Custis, aged 

Every year a certain day in November is spent at West End, and 
oysters are roasted in the old kitchen. Always present at these reunions is 
a pale, beautiful woman with a pensive mouth. She is very fond of Mrs. 
Randolph's children, who call her "Auntie Nan." Little Custis is her 
favorite, however. They play games by the hour in the big kitchen. He 
loves her very dearly, but one thing about her he cannot understand, — she 
will never play soldiers with him. 

Margaret E. Starr. 


"'Way down South" is generally considered — and rightly so — the 
unconventional portion of the United States. In that region we find, not 
the straight, stiff tracing of new customs and new education, but the indo- 
lently graceful outlines of a life which has changed but little, in its funda- 
mental precepts, as the years have passed. In a country where summer is 
long and lazy, where one breathes in procrastination with the very air of 
heaven, where people still take time to live, it is small wonder that we find 
many loiterers whom the rapid stride of nineteenth century progress has left 
far behind. Here, at least, one may still find not only ante-bellum gallantry 
and hospitality, but also remains of old, old superstitions, long since forgot- 
ten by the rest of the world. 

They tell us that ignorance is the mother of superstition. The darkies 
are the ignorant people of the South ; therefore, in order to study supersti- 
tion in its most interesting phases, we turn naturally to these people. Even 
the modern darky has a strong belief in the supernatural ; but while he 
trembles at stories of " sperits an' ha'nts," he is, at the same time, a little 
ashamed of his own weakness. The old-timey negro, however, never con- 


aiders this element in his make-up a weakness at all ; he will tell you ghost 
stones — nearly always personal reminiscences — with as much feeling and 
sincerity as he will describe " de good ole times" and " de war what freed 
de niggers." To him the powers of the air are real, and should be invited 
or repelled according to the dictates of tradition. 

Perhaps the numberless darky "signs" derive their especial interest 
from the very fact that they are so peculiarly significant to this people. If 
the old negro cook drops her dishcloth, she begins to wonder what she has in 
the pantry worthy of the company coming. If a dog howls at dead of night, 
particularly, near by, the darky soul is filled with dire foreboding. If a 
little bird flies through an open window and alights in the room, the house girl 
immediately begins to wonder whose sudden demise is thus presaged. So 
it is through countless other omens. To the darkies they are not signs, but 
prophecies of good or ill. 

These people, however, are not mere passive victims of the fate their 
signs foretell. The wearing of a "charm," they think, will turn aside the 
very darkest ill luck. Peeping from the ragged collar round many a black neck, 
is visible a bit of soiled string ; to this, you may be sure, is appended some 
good-luck piece. It may be only a bit of coin, it may be a tiny bag of pul- 
verized herbs, or some curiosity found under peculiarly auspicious circum- 
stances, — whatever the charm, it possesses for the ,black wearer a power 
and value not easily computed. 

One of the most powerful charms a darky can possess — but one not 
worn about the neck — is a rabbit foot. This luck-piece holds proud and 
undisputed sway in the possessor's pocket. To be a really lucky rabbit foot, 
the modern darky will tell you that it must be the left hind foot of the rabbit. 
To this statement the ante-bellum darky adds indignant conditions. He has 
been brought up to believe that a rabbit foot is "no 'count" that isn't 
obtained in the proper way. You must go to the " graveyard" on a pitch- 
dark night, seize the rabbit just in the act of leaping a grave, and then cut 
off his left hind foot. You understand, of course, that no darky on earth 
could be persuaded near a cemetery on any kind of a night ; and that even if 
in some unaccountable fit of daring he got so far on a dark night he couldn't 
see anything, certainly not a rabbit. Nevertheless, these people firmly 
believe that there are in existence plenty of rabbit feet obtained in just such 


a way. They will acknowledge that they themselves never got one thus, but 
they know people who know other people who have performed the feat. 

As everybody knows, darkies are great fishermen. They are regular 
" Rip van Winkles" when it comes to enjoying a day spent sitting sleepily 
by some lazy creek. They seem to care little enough whether such a day 
leaves them with tangible results or not. Of one thing they are sure : if they 
catch nothing, it is not the fault of the fishermen, but of the fish. They are 
positive of this, for each time they bait their hook they carefully spit upon it, 
and on no account do they allow their own pole to cross the pole of another 
angler. After such painstaking on their part, they can't be responsible for a 
lack of attention on the part of the fish. 

This same principle of no-crossing, by the way, has, with them, another 
interesting application. After a darky once "gets religion," his dancing 
days are at an end ; he can never more dance even " clogs." The sin lies, he 
will tell you, not in the dancing, but in the fact that he can't dance without 
crossing his feet. Several summers ago we took with us, on a camp hunt, a 
negro clog-dancer. Every evening this darky would amuse us for an hour 
or more by singing and dancing before the camp fire. Finally he turned, 
one evening, to the negro boy patting time, and said, "John, can't chew 
dance?" John instantly replied, "You know I can', Bill; I done jine de 
chu'ch." " Dat ain' no matter," returned Bill, " ef yer don' cross yer feet." 
So John took his turn at dancing ; but he didn't really enjoy it, because just 
in the middle of some remarkably fantastic figure Bill would stop him by ex- 
claiming, " Da now ! Ain't cher done cross yer feet den?" 

Darkies nearly always have a "mizry" somewhere about them, for the 
cure of which they are continually taking medicine. Drugs, however, are 
not always essential for their relief. The darky afflicted with a wart or a sty 
pricks the part affected until he obtains a blood stain on a bit of cloth, retires 
to the juncture of two or more roads, drops the cloth, repeats a charm, turns 
three times, and walks off backward looking over his left shoulder. One of 
these charms escapes my memory, but the other runs thus : — 

" Sty, sty, leave my eye; 
Take the nex' one 't passes by." 

It seems fortunate for the cure of these two minor ills that it is not 
delayed until some one ' ' 't passes by " picks up the folded cloth ; for a 


darky is rather careful about taking possession of queer-looking packages 
found along the road, especially if he has a known enemy, — and he gener- 
ally has. He is afraid of being " cunjered." The blacks think that an ill- 
disposed person has the power to breathe into the most innocent-looking 
parcel a most formidable spirit of malevolence for the person who picks it 
up. This spirit of evil and its effect they call "cunjer." They have a 
cure, however, even for " cunjer." No matter how badly affected a darky 
may be, if he will only wear shucks in his shoes for several weeks he can 
remove the evil spell. 

The best-known weakness of darky character is, however, their belief 
in " sperits an' ha'nts." They believe that the spirits of the departed return 
to this earth in various guises. Last summer a grizzled old black man told 
us about a Mississippi " ha'nt " which assumes the form of a wild turkey. 
It seems that a certain miser of that section buried his money and died ; 
of course people have found out about the treasure — as people always do — 
and have often tried to find it. But every time anybody gets near the 
right spot, up flies this same wild turkey, "An' it can' never be shot. / 
done give up lookin' fur dat money." Some darkies claim the power of 
calling up " ghoses " at will. I know an old colored preacher who affirms, 
with convincing sincerity, that he has often seen " sperits" in the middle of 
the day. One day he was going along an old country road with a black 
boy, when he saw "a ha'nt comin' straight down de middle o' de big road " 
toward them. The boy, though implored to come to the side of the road, 
insisted upon staying in the middle, because " he ain' see nutt'n'." So the 
ghost passed right through that boy. In a few minutes the young fellow 
exclaimed, " 'Thaniel, whut chew hit me fur?" "I ain' hit cher," said 
Nathaniel. " Nes, yer did," said the boy, " right her' on de side de haid." 
Three times he complained thus, and after the third time Nathaniel un- 
derstood. " An' I ain' know how 'tis, but de nex' week dat boy died, an' 
he ain' never know yit tain' me 't hit 'im. Maybe 'twan' dat ghos', but 
ef it ain', den I ain' know whut 'tis." 

" I ain' know whut 'tis." We might take these words as the key- 
note of all the darky fancies, — the inbred belief in the supernatural, which 
is so prominent a characteristic of the negroes in the South. 

Jessie E. Wagner, '99. 



[From the Old English.] 

Between the March and April days 
When sprays begin to spring, 
And every little bird her lays 
In her own tongue doth sing, 
Then live I deep in love-longing, — 
Aye yearning for the sweetest thing 

That bliss to me may bring. 

Sway o'er me hath she won. 
A happy chance hath fall'n to me; 
I trow it must from heaven be : 
From other loves my heart is free, 
And given to Alysoun. 

Black eyes and forehead dark hath she ; 
Her hair is beautiful of hue. 
With winsome cheer she smiled on me, 
With lissome form and fair to view. 
But if in vain to her I sue 
That I might be her lover true, 
By death I will her pity woo : 

My life will be fordone. 
A happy chance hath fall'n to me; 
I trow it must from heaven be : 
From other loves my heart is free, 
And given to Alysoun. 

Julia D. PiAndall, '07. 


The 7.45 train on a sunny June morning was, as was to be expected, 
warm and uncomfortable. I grumbled inwardly, though somewhat consoled 
by the contemptible feeling that everybody else in the car was just as mis- 
erable as I. True, two children staring wide-eyed over the back of a grimy 
seat looked blissfully content ; but they had not traveled this route morning 
and evening for years. 


Slowly we were rumbled along toward the city, stopping at each little 
station to pick up those whom stern duty and prosaic prospects of bread 
and butter beckoned from the serene village homes. When the conductor, 
sticking his reluctant head within the door, mumbled " Jermyn," several of 
us almost involuntarily looked up from our morning papers for a familiar 
figure. A little later than usual the man strode hurriedly across the plat- 
form. He took the red carnation thrust into his hand by the black-eyed 
flower boy, and tossing back a nickel jumped aboard the already moving 
train. It was a picture which had greeted our eyes each morning through 
the long winter and spring. Now, busy and preoccupied men though we 
were, we looked forward to it. 

A man not like most of us ; heat and cold, storm and sunshine seemed 
alike to his taste. He wore always the same kindly face, with merry eyes 
and a winning mouth. It was a mouth which looked eager to cry, " Men, 
isn't this a wonderful, perfect world?" With his tall, broad-shouldered 
figure, neatly dressed, and the bright flower caught through his buttonhole, 
he was truly a goodly thing to look upon. He always wore a red carnation 
just as he always wore his buttonhole. 

As he jumped whistling from the train that morning I thanked him in 
my heart, and then, restored to a good humor, went my way. 

It was July, but evening, and riding toward home I leaned listlessly 
against the cushioned seat. As the engine with a moan stopped to rid itself 
of one more living burden, the earnest conversation of two men floated to 
me from across the aisle. Their trim cases labeled them physicians. 
"Yes," said the elder to his young friend, " it was an interesting case and 
the operation magnificent, but the child was weak, and faded away before the 
intense heat. He made a grand struggle for life, but we could not save him. 
It is unspeakably sad, for the father and mother were wrapped up in their 
son, and " Then the train rumbled on, and I heard no more. 

The rain was pouring down from an oppressive gray sky as we drew 
up into Jermyn two mornings later. For a week I had not seen my blithe, 
unknown friend with his red carnation, but this morning he walked slowly 
toward the car. The little Italian, glad at the unexpected sight of his old 


friend, bounded forward with his basket. As the man pushed back the en- 
treating red posy there came over the boy's sunny face a hurt look. It 
quickly faded away, however, as the trembling hand, which dropped the 
usual dingy coin, rested a moment on his curly head. Then with a faint 
smile, like sunshine struggling through the gloomy cloud, the sad-faced man 
came in to his old seat. 

The black band wound carefully around his hat told a pathetic little tale. 

Augusta Pratt Fordham, '98. 



She was a quiet little creature. Her head drooped shyly, and she 
glanced up at you with a look which impressed some people as being tire- 
somely meek ; others as pathetically timid. Even in her senior year she 
had not learned to hold her head up and " look the whole world in the face." 
No one ever suspected her of being pretty until one night she wore a pink 
gown to a class social. Her cheeks were delicately flushed just the color of 
her gown, and for some reason — perhaps the consciousness of looking well — 
she held her head up straight. She made quite a little sensation, and several 
friendly girls told her how pretty she was looking. She even tried to dance 
a little, and her cheeks matched the pink gown all evening. But the next 
day her head drooped more than ever, as if she were painfully conscious of 
her unwonted gayety of the night before, and the pretty color had vanished 
as if put away with the pink gown. She had crept back into her shell. 

As we sat waiting for the last number of the concert, I turned to my 
friend with the wise question whether after all music is not the most satisfy- 
ing of the arts. She did not answer ; she was looking at some one who sat 
opposite us on the side. I looked too, and saw a girl with a beautifully 
shaped head crowned with close braids of heavy black hair, strong facial out- 
lines softened by vivid, exquisite coloring, and large brown eyes whose 
pensiveness, perhaps, explained the just perceptible droop of the lips. 
4 'She looks like a girl in a book," I said. "Yes; she would be an ideal 
Maggie Tulliver," Rachel answered. As the opening chords of the serenade 


sounded, " I wonder if she sings," I whispered. " She ought to, with that 
face." Rachel smiled. " She ought just to live," she said earnestly. 

I was just dropping off to sleep when my thoughts were recalled by a 
voice in the next room. 

" Yes, the manuscript lay in the editor's desk for a year," were the first 
words which reached my consciousness. " Then a new editor came and read 
it. He saw at once what wonderful genius there was in it, and so ' Lucile ' 
was published." 

"Don't you love to read?" the voice went on in an eager, breathless 
rapidity. " It makes me almost ill sometimes to think I can't read all the 
things that ever were written." I groaned, but continued to listen. "I 
think I like short stories and poems better than novels ; they're so much 
more telling. Sometimes I think I'll go down to the library some day and 
take out all the magazines for the last twenty years and read every short 
story in them. O, did you ever read 'The Loves of the Angels'? I 
admire Lalla Rookh ; but the 'Loves of the Angels' is perfectly lovely ! " 
with vivid emphasis. Hereupon the ten o'clock bell rang, and the voice 
betook itself to the corridor, where I heard it trailing off into distance, and, 
finally, silence. 


They two walked along the sea wall in the clear, pale light of a closing 
winter afternoon. She was looking at a white-winged ship sailing swiftly 
down the harbor, but he looked at her tall, slight young figure. The sharp 
salt air blew in briskly from the sea, and she turned her face toward it with 
a deep breath of satisfaction. He watched the breeze lift the brown curls 
off her forehead and bring the clear color to her cheek. When they came 
to the end of the wall he stopped. "I ask you just this once more, Mar- 
garet," he said; "shall I find you waiting when I come back from this 
cruise?" For a moment she silently watched the ship still flying fast before 
the wind. Then she turned to him with an inscrutable little smile. "The 
wind is chano-ino- " she said ; " shall we £o in?" 

He was a young English midshipman just come to Boston from New 
York, and we were waltzing together at the officers' ball. 


" How do you like the United States?" I asked. 

"Ob, chawmed; and do you know, I think I like Boston better than 
New York." 

"Yes? And did you say the same sort of thing about New York to 
the girls you met there?" His blank eyes manifested a quite English appre- 
ciation of my mild joke, so I hastened to add, — 

"But your compliments to Boston do not appeal to me, for I live in 
Ohio." Then, at the risk of rudeness, I went on, — 

" I've heard so much of English ideas in regard to American geography, 
"would you mind telling me if you know where Ohio is?" 

" O, I've heard of it, I'm sure," with an expression of interest. 

" But do you know where it is?" I persisted. 

"Well, really, I'm not quite sure. I think it's on the Mississippi, on 
the left bank °:oin<>' down." 

I gasped. " What do you think it is?" I finally managed to ask. 

" Why, it's a town, isn't it?" 

After I had imparted a few useful facts in regard to my native State, he 
remarked ingenuously, — 

" Why, do you know, I've picked up a good many little things since I 
came here." 

E. L., '96. 


"You don't really like her," I said incredulously. 

"Well," remarked my brother, hesitatingly, "she came out to the 
university with a friend last whiter, and I showed her around. We had an 
awfully jolly time. I enjoyed it hugely, and I thought she was a pretty 
nice girl." 

" Indeed !" I remarked contemptuously. 

" Afterwards," he continued, with an odd mixture of amusement and 
shamefacedness, "I tried to think what she had said that was so pleasant 
and, — well," desperately, "to be frank, I couldn't think of a blessed thing. 
But she had giggled at everything I said, and that sort of thing makes a 
fellow feel in a good humor with himself, you know, and — well, I supjiose 
that's why I liked her." M. A. D., '96. 



" Where, oh where, are the staid alumnae? " Every month, to be sure, 
a stray address or two creeps into the alumnae notes in the Magazine. But 
such scattered items after all mean very little. It is the people one meets 
and the things one is doing that makes life interesting, for others as well as 
for one's self. 

So we come to you with an appeal, with a request, with an invitation. 
If you have ever been a part of the Wellesley life and have left " to make 
other arrangements," — if you have gone out from your completed course 
" to minister," — if you are connected by any pleasant recollections, by any 
bond of loyalty with Wellesley, send us something ! Tell us of teaching in 
a New England village, of Parisian life in the Latin quarter. Give us a 
glimpse of work among the Southern negroes, or of university life in Cam- 
bridge or in Gottingen. Tell us of business, of society, of " making home 
happy." We want the touch of your larger life on ours. We want the sun- 
shine and the color that Wellesley girls all over the world are finding. 

Every month, then, we shall look for letters, for sketches, more and 
less informal, from the Wellesley colonists. It is ours to go to the post 
office, yours to send the letters. 

This time a bit from Germany has come to us. — 


Hxldesheim, in the experience of the summer sojourner, is a city of 
children and churches. The children, like the churches, rejoice in an appear- 
ance of age and historic dirt. They retain a truly mediaeval spirit also in their 
feeling for feuds. In short, there is nothing modern about them, except an 
occasional attack of the spirit of scientific investigation. Then they display 
research methods of such unexpected and alarming thoroughness, that the 
hapless nineteenth century American trembles for her shoes and shirt waists. 
If there is anything in Hildesheim that is not poetic, it is the children, al- 
though it is obvious that they secretly feel this lack in themselves deeply. 


They endeavor conscientiously to remedy it according to their lights, never 
refusing to enliven a passing sightseer with their favorite bit of verse, de- 
claimed loudly, and with feeling, 

Engliinderin, Engliinderin, 
Geld Verschwenderin ! 

Not a sustained effort, indeed, but suggestive ; and in these days laureates 
themselves need write but scanty scraps of rhyme. 

The churches of Hildesheim, however, have no lack of poetry and ro- 
mance. Each one has its heart of history, its veins of legend and tradition. 
But the cathedral, the wonderful old cathedral, standing in the peaceful 
Domhof with its beautiful old trees and worn, moss-grown stones, was born 
of a legend. Once upon a time, a great many hundreds of years ago, a 
beautiful and wonderful thing happened. The Queen of Heaven appeared to 
a young priest, and sent, fluttering down upon him, as he knelt before her, 
a soft, shining snowstorm of little leaves. When she had gone he gathered 
the little white leaves, and lo ! they fitted together, and drawn thereon was a 
grand and mighty cathedral. The young priest's name was Benmard, and 
he kept the little white leaves of the snowstorm ever by him, and built the 
cathedral as they showed him that it should be. And he built many 
churches, and became a holy bishop and a father of good. And this is a 
true story ; for can one not see to-day, in the great hall of the Bathhaus, 
the Queen of Heaven herself, with her bright crown and her gracious smile, 
above there in the blue sky and white clouds, sending down the fluttering 
flakes with their message to the kneeling one below ? 

So it comes that the worship of the glory and benignity of the Queen of 
Heaven pervades the atmosphere of the cathedral, like the morning offering 
of incense. The figure of a priest kneeling on the steps of the altar in the 
little Lady Chapel at the right, seemed always in perfect harmony. As 
we went day after day to sit awhile in some dark corner, we became our- 
selves imbued with the mysticism and devoutness of the place. We strayed 
about, wondering at the ancient carved font, or at the great bronze doors 
made by the same good Bishop Bernward, a thousand years ago, froin which 
the heads of Biblical personages hang off in a way calculated to make a sym- 
pathetic neck feel most uncomfortable. We wandered at the curious old 
candelabrum that hangs in the nave. Once it was very elaborate, but now 


with its empty little doors, where the apostles used to stand before the Thirty 
Years' War came along and drove them away, it looks like a circle of small 
barometer houses, when the weather is so very bad that the politely warning 
lady and gentleman have both gone in. 

We almost always saw our priest on the altar steps. But if we missed 
him there, we never failed to find him pacing the gray cloisters, or wandering 
in the cloister garden, where the woodbine, now in the passionate glory of 
its death, embraced the arches, the tiny stone chapel in the center of the 
court, and the crosses of the priests who lie buried there. Then we came to 
know what it was for which he longed and prayed at the altar, in the cloister, 
in the garden. The sacristan told us with a curious little note in his voice, 
at once affectionate, apologetic, and quaintly proud, that this holy brother 
was a seer of visions. He felt that he was to be a builder of churches, a 
doer of miraculous deeds. He, like Bernward of old, would be shown the 
heavenly direction and plan. And so for long years he had led a life of 
prayer, and repentance, and fasting, that he might be fit when the Queen of 
Heaven should appear to him. And the eyes of his soul became weary and 
worn with watching for her. He went sometimes and stood before the 
picture in the great hall of the Rathhaus, and looked until he could almost 
feel the first white flake touching his own head, until he dreamed his waiting 
was over. 

Three months later we crossed again the peaceful Domhof, and entered 
with a sense of familiar homecoming the little stone vestibule with its worn 
praying bench. We wandered at last into the cloisters and the garden. 
There was no glory of woodbine, but the austere beauty of winter. In the 
row of priests' graves there was a new cross at the end. We knew now why 
we had missed our priest from altar, cloister, and crypt. 

We turned back as we passed out of the garden under the gray arches. 
Soft, white flakes from heaven were fluttering down upon the fresh mound. 
His waiting was over. 

Emilie Wheaton Porter. 

Gottingen, Germany, February, 1896. 



To ye Editorial Board of Ninety-Six, Thanks : — 

Your cheery words of greeting and encouragement fell gratefully on our 
little ears, new to the title of Editorial Board. Far be it from us to under- 
estimate the value of good advice — to the one who gives it. Credit us with 
all possible appreciation of the conservative spirit that preserves a custom 
from generation to generation ; and then accept our most heartfelt thanks 
for turning your back on precedent, and omitting the advice, in your words 
of greeting. Warning drawn from experience would have been good ; en- 
couragement was better, and, we think, more needed. Difficulties to come 
we had already presaged ; dimly, to be sure, but with features all the more 
formidable, perhaps, for their vagueness. Did you realize you could do for 
us little in addition along that line? But though we had trusted in our 
genuine interest in the work to sustain us through the trials of the editorial 
career, novices could not have foretold the large ' ' cheer and compensation " 
from kindly laity which you described to us. Surely some happy spirit 
whispered you, instead of depressing us with your warnings, to help us by 
telling us of encouragements which only you of the sanctum could know. 
We were not aware of the existence in the editorial world of " unexpected 
windfalls," and articles "three days early," and the " pleasant thud" of final 
proofs. It was kindly thought of you to tell us. True, we should have 
found it out in time ; but anticipation is as good as surprise, and lasts longer. 
To you belongs the credit of being the first Magazine board to discover this 
fact and act upon it. Yes, it was a comfort to be started on our untried 
journey with a sandwich instead of a tract. And for your genial courtesy 
we thank you. 

Cordial congratulations, too, we bring you, Board of Ninety-Six. It 
means a great deal to have stored up from a year's experience sunshine 
enough to warm other hearts as well as one's own. We offer congratulations 
on all that editorial experience has meant to you. And, finally, we con- 
gratulate you on the completion of your nine months' work, the release 


from responsibility, and the present freedom to call your souls your own. 
We have known an old woman who said, " A good solid sickness was worth 
while, just to have the blessed experience of getting over it." 

And now, our hearty good wishes ! May the blessing of Abraham, 
Isaac, and Jacob be upon you ! 

It is with pleasure that we print the following notice received from the 
Secretary's office. Students and alumnas alike will welcome this addition to 
the College Calendar : — 


It is considered desirable to publish yearly in the College Calendar a list of 
the Wellesley College Associations and Clubs, with the names and addresses 
of the President and Secretary of each. The Secretary of each Association 
or Club is requested to send the desired information to Mary Caswell, Welles- 
ley College, before May 15. 


Sacreo to tbe /iDemon? of tbe Hnnual Boitorial on Spring. 



' ' Would it be treading on the grave of the Spring editorial to write 
something about the birds we have seen?" "we" asked of another one of 
"us." " Would an editorial on spring hats be an editorial on spring?" she 
answered. So we drew the quill from behind our ear and wrote. On the 
fourteenth of March we heard our first robin — in the Durant rhododendrons 
by the lake. Others probably had heard them earlier. Next morning we 
saw six, and since then they have been as common as bicycles. The song 
sparrow by the farmhouse tuned up a week before vacation, and all the others 
are singing now. For those unfamiliar with their song, this is the time to 
learn it ; for the jays, who screamed all winter, have been very quiet for the 
past month, and other birds, except the robin, have not begun to sing much 
yet. The song sparrow has it to himself all day, and his notes are always 
in the air. At sundown lie is hushed, and the robins, far apart from each 
other in the treetops, begin their tender twilight hymn. Every night you 
can hear them now, until the darkness has quite fallen. But during the day 
they only call and chuckle. The woodpecker on the Art Building hill has 
been springing his rattle ever since the song sparrow struck up in the bush. 
Red-winged blackbirds are clipping along the lake again, and reeling olf their 
strange, liquid " burr-r-r " from the swaying tips of the willows on the water's 
edge. "Pewee ! " for weeks the lonely phoebe has been calling. Bluebirds 
have come. The rusty blackbird and yellow, red-polled warbler complete 
the list of spring birds proper seen about here. We have seen the little gray 
snowbirds in great numbers, and a good many plump pine grosbeaks ; but 
they are just passing through, mere drummer-birds in Wellesley. The Eng- 
lish sparrow, of course, is ever with us. But he recognized the presence of 
spring earlier than we ; for before we could discern any buds on the twigs, 
he was biting the ends off, showing plainly enough that the buds were there. 

A Free Press article in this issue comments on the lack of ' ' social 
functions," so to speak, among friends, and suggests having little parties 
of one sort or another in our rooms with spirits congenial. That is a good 
plan for those who can afford it. But a great many of the students cannot 


indulge in the luxury of even simple " spreads." One may say it costs only 
a trifle. But it would be daring to offer to six friends, say, as a substitute 
for a meal, something that cost, all told, less than a dollar. They could 
hardly be sustained, as becomes one's hospitality, under sixteen and two- 
thirds cents apiece. "Give them some other entertainment, then — that 
costs nothing." But this usually means a good deal of time and trouble 
beforehand — an expenditure as costly as money. There is a large body 
among us for whom such a plan is not feasible. To the majority of these 
girls it seems to us that College otters nothing of a social nature except in- 
formal calls and walks with friends, the privilege of one or two concert 
guests during the year, the class socials, and perhaps an annual society open 
meeting or dance. They are not themselves members of societies, nor 
prominent in college life, nor able to provide themselves with the pleasures 
that plenty of clothes and ease in spending make possible. Would it be 
practicable, with our already existing societies, to have some sort of social 
organization which could include eveiybody, and give these girls more of 
stirring good times? 

At Radcliffe there is a great club, the "Idler," to which everyone can 
belong who pays a dollar a year ; and everyone does belong. It is a 
purely social body. Meetings are fortnightly. Some entertainment is always 
given — such as a play, or shadow pantomime, or charades. One of the latest 
was a mock trial. This entertainment is got up by the social committee, 
appointed new by the president for each occasion. Usually a girl serves 
only once on the committee in the course of her college life. Two "open 
meetings " are held yearly — receptions, to which outside friends are invited. 
Radcliffe students say the "Idler " is successful in giving everybody a pleasant 
time twice a month. They value it greatly. Indeed, without it, those with 
few friends in Cambridge would be nearly as poorly off as the majority of 
our students. Nearly, not quite ; for they are near to Boston, and free to 
come and go, while we are not. 

Smith has no such organization as the "Idler." But Smith has the 
"Junior Prom," or something equivalent, and the senior dances; and the 
students find friends among the citizens of Northampton. Moreover, each 
house is a unit of organization, with its elected student-president and vice presi- 
dent, responsible for order. Each student completes her whole college life 


in the house she first entered, and this makes each building pretty thoroughly a 
working unit. The house has an entertainment during the year, and each 
year a play for the whole college is given, the houses taking turn in pre- 
senting the play. The two big, mutually exclusive societies at Smith are 
simply literary, not social. But there are any number of smaller clubs : 
some for work along special lines, as Biology, for instance, and some for 
pure sociability. A student may belong to as many of these as she is 
invited to and cares to join in forming. 

Vassar divides what would be an "Idler" into three " Philolethian " 
Societies, Alpha, Beta, and Omega. Everybody belongs to one or the 
other, and each invites the other two to its entertainments. Admission is 
usually applied for. What the basis of division is, and how completely the 
students succeed in keeping the clique spirit out of the "Philolethians," 
we have not yet learned. 

At each of these three colleges there is a chance for everybody. But 
social life at Wellesley seems to us to be congested in a sort of tutti-frutti 
aristocracy of societies. Outside of these, there is hardly any social life at 
all. Do these plans from other colleges offer any practicable suggestions for 
setting it in circulation among all the students? 


One obstacle to the formation of a social organization in which we might 
all share is now being removed. Providence, in a shape often assumed on 
Wellesley grounds since last spring, is fitting up a room big enough to hold 
us all at once. This room is the old cow barn behind the stable, and invisible 
from the path in front of the greenhouse. The stable and the servants' 
dormitory form the south and east sides respectively of an inclosed rectangular 
courtyard. The cow barn and a smaller barn form the corresponding north 
and east sides. The barn is reached at present by crossing the court from 
the stable. When the repairs are finished, it wilj have in addition to this 
side entrance a main door, like the chapel doors, at the west end. The 
whole building is one long hall, with a little room, fitted up for a dressing 
room, opening off on the south side. The dimensions are 50 x 110 feet, — 
5,500 square feet of standing room. The gymnasium and the rectangle of 


the chapel measure each 40 x 60 feet, — 2,400 square feet of standing room. 
To the thirty-three lower windows and the five upper, thirteen upper windows 
have been added for light as well as air. The old plank floor has been taken 
up, and a new floor of plain spruce boards laid. This is not a dancing floor, 
— that cannot come just yet, — but it is a clean place for us to put cushions 
on for seats. The " girts," crossbeams running between the posts in the 
center about eight feet above the floor, have been removed. The dressing 
room is to be completely furnished. 

For the present there are no arrangements for lighting or heating the 
building. But it is already a place, and the only one, where we can hold a 
mass meeting- without crowding the door. It is big enough for indoor basket 
ball, for Tree Day rehearsals, for sheltering the Shakespeare Society and its 
friends when the rain descends and beats upon the play. What it shall 
finally hecome depends largely on what the students want. If we find we 
wish to use it at night, it will probably find a "providential" means of get- 
ting lighted. If we appear very active and restless while there, a dancing 
floor may be put in, — probably will be. It may become a bowling alley, 
or our new gymnasium. It is for us to show what it most needs to be. 


May we say a few words about the Free Press for next month ? We 
have in mind three subjects that are often spoken of among the students, and 
have been spoken of for at least two years. We wish earnestly that the 
students would write what they think about them. The first subject is : The 
loose screw somewhere in Wellesley life that causes us to cry out for some 
social change. The editorial column and the Free Press have each something 
to say about it this month. If the students feel interest in the subject, are 
conscious of stagnation somewhere and want to make a change, let the matter 
be taken up and discussed through the Free Press at once. It is no use to 
leave it until next fall, and the May issue is probably the last this year for 
which people will have time to write. The next subject is : The need for some 
place in College Hall where the village girls can wash their hands without 
going to friends' rooms. We do not forget that the college authorities know 
we need such a place, and would have liked to give it long ago. But we do 


believe that if the faculty dressing room were not, and they had gone through 
our experiences as village girls, that we should have had a dressing room long 
ago. If some of the girls woidd tell through the Free Press what they have 
suffered, we believe the "cry of the children" would reach the maternal ear. 
Then we should find a dressing room read} 7 in September. The third subject 
is : The need of age privilege, as well as class privilege, in the matter of 
registration for absences. We wish that not only seniors, juniors, third and 
fourth year specials (and sophomores, if the truth were told), but also all 
other students twenty years old, say, or nineteen, might have the privilege of 
registration. If every girl who has an opinion on these things, for or 
against, would write her mind, as well as speak it, the Free Press would 
count for something. 

Articles for the May issue must be sent to the Magazine not later than 
April 27. 



When the different colleges are being discussed, the point in which 
Wellesley is most often compared unfavorabl}' with Smith and Vassar is 
its lack of social activity. If we admit that this charge is, to a certain ex- 
teut, true, we ought to remember that of all aspects of our college life this 
is the one which is most fully in the hands of the students. When objec- 
tions are made to the form of government or the curriculum, we are not 
able to remedy matters, but we certainly can do much to remove the re- 
proach that we are a college of " grinds." And we are making it less true 
eveiy year. We are beginning to realize the importance of the lighter and 
brighter side of college life, and are finding other ways of social enjoyment 
than long informal calls in the rooms of our bosom friends, — reluctant 
though we should be to give these up. This year w T e have been decidedly 
gay, with our receptions, open meetings, the Colonial Dance, and the Fudge 
Sale, besides the usual class socials. Still, there cannot be the sociability 
at these large functions that is the charm of smaller gatherings. The 
delightful personal relation of guest and hostess is almost entirely wanting. 
We attempt to gratify our hospitable instincts by asking a friend to take 


dinner or go to walk with us, but there is a wide gap between such social 
attentions and the large parties in the gymnasium. I think our next move 
should be to fill this gap. There is no reason why we should not give 
small luncheons, teas, or card parties in our rooms. Even dinners are not 
beyond the reach of those who are skillful with the chafing dish. In 
this way we could entertain our friends, ten or twelve at a time, with 
something of the cozy hospitality of our own homes. It ought not to be 
said that we have no time for such things, for even the busiest of us spend 
more time each week strollin°- in the corridors and idling in each other's 
rooms than several such parties would consume. And the notes of invi- 
tation, giving just a pleasant touch of formality, would warn us to save up 
these moments for a pleasanter use. 

G. C, '97. 


This was not said to us, but merely for our benefit, w r e being not yet 
alumna?. It was merely a further effervescence of the kindly spirit of criti- 
cism in which our older sisters are indulging of late ; a spirit which we cannot 
but believe to be inspired by the truest and most charitable motives. We 
arrived upon the scene of the conversation too late to hear the origin of the 
discussion, but in time to learn that the speakers were both emphatically of 
the same opinion as to the point in question, — that the Wellesley girl, though 
not lacking in individuality as compared with the outside world, shares it to 
a woeful extent with her college mates, that the stamp of their common life 
is set indelibly upon them. As one of the group tersely expressed it, " Any 
one could tell one a block away." Not so much importance, however, was 
laid upon the tendency to similarity in external appearance, as upon their 
common attitude toward "The Great Questions of Life." From the state- 
ments of these, our older sisters, we regard it with a seriousness and a so- 
lemnity which exerts no small influence over the character of the atmosphere 
with which we are surrounded in our Alma Mater, introducing into what 
ought to be a hearty, healthy, and active little world no small degree of com- 
plexity of thought and personal relations. The terse young woman gave it 
as her opinion that the cause of it all lay in the necessary similarity in diet 


and surroundings. This was a welcome thought. Probably no one of us, even 
as early as the end of her Freshman year, has failed to realize with a be- 
wildering certainty that her previously simple, interested, natural way of 
taking things and people seems to be quite out of place. It doesn't work ; 
wh}', she doesn't know. With the beginning of her Sophomore year she 
begins to learn. If she is particularly obtuse or impervious to outward in- 
fluence, she ma}' cling to her old ideas and pull " out of it" in the majority 
of our modern conversations. If she is caught up by the spirit of the times, 
she sees with blushing acuteness how immature and incomprehensive have 
been her views on such vital questions as, " Why do we live?" " Why do 
we love ? " " Is anything worth while ? " " Have I a real friend? " " How 
much sugar to one of milk?" Tis not that one blames the youthful mind 
for relaxation from hard woi'k by uncollegiate thought ; but if one could only 
turn that thought out of these trains and into such trains as " What can I do 
to be saved?" or " Why did they call me Susan?" or " How old shall I be 
next year?" the benefit might be incalculable. But the pioneers of new 
thought in this, as in previous generations, are martyrs to the cause. They 
are silenced by an indignant wave of a fudge spoon or a pitying glance, and 
their saddened minds trail disconsolately over the field of possible solutions 
for such a problem in the higher education of women. Is it possible that 
one must live through it all before one can hope to solve it ? and is this sug- 
gestion of one of our invaluable advisory board of elder sisters an attempt 
at the solution ? Diet? Food? Attribute such an influence to anything so 
physically, mentally, morally invigorating as the festive board at the Main 
Building ! Then we think of our stew and canned apricots, and begin to see 
the point. But there it ends. 

I. B. S., '98. 


Every graduate who comes back to Wellesley after an absence of 
several years must be impressed with the growth of our College in intellectual 
life and vigor. She must grant that the present system of allowing freedom 
for individual thought and investigation is vastly superior to the old. Yet 
in the effect which these advantages have upon the students as a whole she 
finds room for disappointment. There is something the College used to pos- 


sess which it lacks to-day. This is not a tangible substance, — an atmosphere, 
rather, — something invisible, yet strongly felt. It was a spirit of sweetness, 
of gentleness, of good manners that come from the heart. It pervaded our 
corridors, library, and class room. 

But to-day the atmosphere is cold toward one outside the pale of class 
or society. Let such an one go into a class made up of Seniors and Juniors. 
Ought she not to expect, after days and weeks of intercouse, to receive at least 
a smile of recognition from the regular members of the class ? 

We used to hear about the " Wellesley Spirit." It was what character- 
ized the girls wherever they went. If the students to-day do not understand 
what that means, they have only to go to a certain school preparatory to 
Wellesley to meet it in bodily fonn. It may be but a smile or a gentle 
" Excuse me," but the impression is indelibly stamped upon the mind of the 
stranger or guest that there is to be found that perfection of good manners 
which springs from the heart. What must have been the feeling of our dis- 
tinguished guest who came to speak to us not long since ! Can she testify to 
the o-ood breeding and thoughtfulness of our students when, in the course of 
her lecture, fifty at least from among her audience left the chapel? Here 
was a woman whose very presence should have w r on respect, — a woman ac- 
customed to the best society of this and foreign lands. What must have 
been her verdict upon the higher education of women ! ' ' But we couldn't 
hear in the back of the chapel," some one says. We answer : " Better to be 
bored than to be rude, and to bring discredit upon our College and our 

There is much individual kindliness and courtesy among the students. 
Can we not make this more general ? 

C. M. K., '87. 


At the last concert I had been seated only a few minutes when a 
student, who evidently considered herself fortunate in the possession of two 
guests, sat down directly behind me. As soon as they were seated the 
girl, who seemed to feel that two guests demanded a double effort at conver- 
sation, began a vivid description of some of the trifling incidents of our 


college life. Since she seldom stopped for breath, and never allowed her 
dual escort to make a remark, in the few minutes before the concert I 
gained some of the choicest bits of college gossip I had heard for months. 
When the concert began, however, I expected to hear no more, and was con- 
gratulating her guests upon the rest they were to secure. No such good 
fortune was to be theirs or mine, however. As an accompaniment to 
Handel's "Aria con variazioni," I heard the words "fudge," "ten 
o'clock," "a note of warning." In the combination, both the music and the 
conversation suffered. Had I been able to give undivided attention to the 
music, I should certainly have enjoyed it. The conversation, had it not 
been broken by the music, would have been interesting, beyond question. 
I turned around and looked at the girl in a way she must have understood. 
She returned the look, — and went on talking. At the end of the second 
number she and the long-suffering guests moved to some seats in another 
aisle. I sincei'ely beg the pardon of the persons to whom my look sent them, 
for they carried on the same animated conversation throughout the evening. 
This experience has not been mine alone ; many another member of 
the College has had a similar one. The remedy of such a trouble is almost 
too simple to suggest. Even if we cannot change the system of concert 
tickets so that the appreciative, rather than the unappreciative, may enjo} r 
the opportunity of hearing good music, there is one thing we can do : we 
can show that the "Wellesley girl never forgets that the height of good breed- 
ing is to be inconspicuous, courteous, and thoughtful for others. 

F. F., '97. 


The various college magazines which have found their way to the 
Wellesley office this month are not so full of the spring freshness and joy- 
ous life as the early spring magazines usually are. Perhaps it is too early, 
but certainly there is a conspicuous lack of spring poetry and effusions. 
To be sure, the Trinity Tablet ends an allusion to spring with the Rubaiyat 
quotation : — 

" Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of spring 
Tour winter garments of repentance fling," 


but this is inspiration at secondhand. The Yale Lit., in commenting upon 

the changes brought about at this season, also quotes — the following : — 

"The time has come, the walrus said, 
To talk of many things, — 
Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, 
And cahbages and kings." 

Among the many pleasing numbers one turns with perhaps the greatest 
pleasure to the finished work found in the Alumni number of the Dart- 
mouth Lit. Here we find contributions from the classes of '36, '84, '87, 
'89, '94, and '95. It is hardly fair to select any one article, as they are all 
excellent; but the little one-act drama of W. D. Quint, '87, is particularly 
good. The parody on " Sherlock Holmes," by W. B. Forbush, '88, and 
the article on " Morbidness in Modern Literature," by J. T. Gerould, '95, are 
especially worthy of notice. The numerous references so carefully given by 
Mr. Gerould on each page are more than suggestive of Junior Forensics. Mr. 
Gerould does not merit criticism on the ground of insufficient proof. 

From the Yale Lit. we notice especially the appreciative criticism of 
Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson's " A Child's Garden of Verses," and a dramatic 
sketch called, " After the War." 

The fiction in the Smith College Monthly is almost nil. There is a little 
Irish sketch, but the best work in the Monthly is found in its verse and its 
Browning and Plato criticisms. 

The lied and Blue has a most interesting article on "The Famous Old 
Schools of Philadelphia," and an equally entertaining one on "Radiographic 

We notice an odd little sketch in the Trinity Tablet, entitled "The Man 
with the Green Goggles." 

The Columbia Lit. has a particularly good number for March. The 
story entitled "Mademoiselle's Dowry" is an apparent but not entirely un- 
successful imitation of Du Maupassant. " The Women of the North Half et 
alia monae," and "A Glance at the Barnard Laboratory," both repay one for 
the reading. 

The Inlander, from the University of Michigan, is rich in fiction this 
month, and very fair fiction it is too. "The Tale of a Coat," " The Fate of 
a Proselyte," and "A Confusion of Tongues," are all above the average 
college story. 


The college story "In a Foreign Field," and the interesting review of 
"The Letters of Matthew Arnold," are the best things in the Vassar 

The verse this month is not up to the average, but we give below some 
of the best : — 


He was at fault. Wherein, she knows 
Who heareth now his humble word, 
"I was at fault." Yea, were they foes 

She could not claim these words unheard. 
And having heard, what will her pride 

Ask else, if aught? For she is proud — 
Pride nigh hauteur is hers, — beside, 
He was at fault. They met. She bowed. 

— Columbia Lit. 


" The world is so full of a number of things, 
I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings." 
That's what the book says, but what would you do 
If the number of things weren't intended for you ? 
If the skates that you wanted cost too much to buy, 
And mamma wouldn't give you two pieces of pie ? 
The world may be full of a number of things, 
But that doesn't make us as happy as kings. 

— Smith College Monthly. 


They brought her honey and milk, 
They brought her curds and wine, 
" But oh! " she cried, " for the river side, 
And the rushes that were mine! " 

They robed her body with silk, 
They filled her lap with gold, 
" But oh! " she prayed, " for the mossy shade, 
And the green depths pure and cold! " 

They kissed her ankles for love, 
They worshiped at her eyes, 
" But oh! " she moaned, " for the flood, deep-toned, 
And the sweeping spray that flies ! " 

They draped her chamber with black, 

They wept there at her bier, 
But her glad soul fled when her heart was dead, 

And flowed with the river clear. 

— Smith College Monthly. 



Artist whose music is never coy nor shy. 

But with a courtly air, demure and sweet, 

Stepping, with old-time grace, on dainty feet 

That scatter music as they pass us by; 

Yet often hide the echo of a sigh 

Pressed from the heart above, for though replete 

With wit, her song it often doth repeat 

That human smiles to human tears are nigh. 

Artist from first to last ! And though the storm 

Of passion thunder not in every line, 

Thou hast not left the matter for the form, 

For in each word there breathes the spark divine. 

Ah, thou hast served thy mistress well; and she 

Has gained, not lost, by her great gifts to thee. 

— The Red and Blue. 


Late and clouded though the spring has been, Wellesley has cause 
for April rejoicing in the dainty volume of lyrics coming to us as an Easter 
gift from our own Miss Jewett. There is full beauty of springtide here : — 

"All day the grass made my feet glad; 

I watched the bright life thrill 
To each leaf-tip and flower-lip; 

Swift winds that swept the hill, 
In garden nook light lingering, shook 

The budding daffodil." 

June breathes among the pages, too, with her "green, half-tasseled 
wheat" and " pewee's brooding notes"; here is the "golden, holy August 
afternoon," and the wistful charm of November's " fading woods and with- 
ered land." The very fragrance of out of doors pervades the book. The 
sensitiveness of the writer to the more subtle moods of Nature is revealed 
in poems such as this, which has something of the pitiless keenness of obser- 
vation known only to kinship and close comradeship : — 


The lichen rustles against my cheek, 

But the heart of the rock is still ; 
With chattering voice the cedars speak, 

Crouched gray on the barren hill. 


A land-wind snarls on the cliff's sheer edge, 

Below, the smitten sea 
Comes fawning over a sunken ledge, 

And cowers whimperingly. 

In the sultry wood lies a restless hush, 

Not a twitter falls from the sky; 
Hidden are swallow, sparrow and thrush, 

And the sea-birds only cry. 

The theme of the volume, however, is not Nature, but Life — the lyric 
theme of the human heart 

"Lifting the shield of Love against the world." 

There are poignant songs of longing : — 


Come, O Love, while the far stars whiten, 

Gathering, growing, momently; 
Thou, who art star of stars, to lighten 

One dim heart that waiteth thee. 

Speak, O Love, for the silence presses, 

Bowing my spirit like a fear; 
Thou, whose words are as caresses, 

Sweet, sole voice that I long to hear. 


Dusk of a lowering evening, 

Chill of a northern zone, 
Pitiful press of worn faces, 

And an exiled heart alone. 

Warm, as with sun of the tropic, 

Keen, as with salt of the sea, 
Sweet, as with breath of blown roses, 

Cometh thy thought to me. 

There is an exquisite song of fugitive joy : — 


Thy face I have seen as one seeth 

A face in a dream, 
Soft drifting before me as drifteth 

A leaf on the stream: 


A face such as evermore fieeth 

From following feet, 
A face such as hideth and shifteth 

Evasive and sweet. 

Thy voice I have heard as one heareth 

Afar and apart. 
The woodthrush that rapturous poureth 

The song of his heart; 
Who heedeth is blest, but who neareth 

In wary pursuit, 
May see where the singer upsoareth, 

The forest is mute. 

And here, most precious of all, is a veritable Easter song of love's 
immortality : — 


From the dwelling-place of the Holy Dead 
Wilt thou come back to me ? 
O Love, it is far 
To that glad, great star 
Whose shining hath hidden thee! 
"Neither in star nor sun," she said, 

Her voice as it oft had been, 
" The dwelling-place of the Holy Dead, 
Nor dreamer nor saint hath seen." 

Lost Love of mine, where we walked of yore 
Thy feet made hallowed ground; 
Now earth is earth, 
Here are death and birth, 
But where is the glory found? 
Low at my side her voice once more, 
"Dull are thine eyes," she said; 
" Walk with me now as we went of yore," 
And I walk with the Holy Dead. 

The beautiful name-poem, " The Pilgrim," whose cover-design links the 
artist sister with the poet sister, is well known through its recent publication 
in The Century. Many of the other lyrics have appeared in the magazines, 
especially in Scribner's. "White Head," one of the strongest and most 
penetrating, came out in the New England. "To-day's Daughter" was 
the Commencement Poem of Smith College for the class of '85. It is al- 
together a notable volume, this modest booklet, with its impress of rare 


artistic culture and choicest womanly personality. Of books the world has 
enough and to spare, and verse is common as failure, but for poetry we are 
always athirst. It is a diamond draught that our Wellesley laureate gives 
us here. 

The latest number of the " Students' Series of English Classics," which 
comes to us from the press of Messrs. Leach, Shewell & Sanborn, contains 
Books I., VI., XXII., and XXIV. of Pope's Iliad. The editor, Mr. 
Warwick James Price, Master of English in St. Paul's School, prefaces his 
work with a short "Biographical Introduction," which is made to include, 
moreover, a brief summary of the state of English letters in Pope's time, and 
a critical analysis of Pope's fitness and unfitness for translating Homer. The 
text is annotated fully ; and a dictionary of proper names which is appended 
may prove equally grateful to the frankly ignorant reader, and to the student 
from whose mind later studies in other subjects have crowded out all but a 
hazy remembrance of ancient geography and Greek mythology. 

In a little volume whose cover bears the unpretentious title Vortrar/e, 
Prof. James Howard Gore, Ph.D., (if Columbian University, edits three 
lectures of the German scientist, Du Bois Reymond. In his preface Mr. 
Gore tells us that the present work has been prompted by '• a desire to make 
a contribution to the aids available to English-speaking students in their 
efforts to learn technical or scientific German." The lectures themselves, 
" Tierische Bewegung," " Uber die Grenzen des Naturkennens," and "Die 
Sieben Weltratsel," are, perhaps, as easy reading to one who has an ordinary 
knowledge of German as any one of the "Lay Sermons and Addresses" to 
an English-reading German. Indeed, in general tone as in choice of subject, 
the second and third essays might well remind one of the " Lay Sermons" : 
and the technical vocabulary gained in reading them is about as great as the 
technical English vocabulary to be got in reading " The Physical Basis of 
Life," for instance. 

The footnotes are very full, and, of course, in English. The compila- 
tion of these notes alone, even with some assistance from the lecturer him- 
self, must have been no small task. "Wide and varied, however, is the 
knowledge of biography, history, and the fiction of England, France, and 
Germany which the speaker presupposes in his audience. The entire book 
is in English type. 



Pope's Iliad, Books I, VI, XXII, and XXIV. In the " Student's 
Series of English Classics." Leach, Shewell, & Sanborn, Boston, New 
York and Chicago. 

A History of Greece for Colleges and High Schools, by Philip Van Ness 
Myers, Professor of History in the University of Cincinnati. Ginn & Co., 
Boston and London., by Emil Du Bois Reymond, edited, with introduction and 
notes, by James Howard Gore, Ph.D., Professor of German in Columbian 
University. Ginn & Co., Boston and London. 

The Individual and the State: An Essay on Justice, by Thomas Ward- 
law Taylor, Jr., M.A., fellow of the Sage School of Philosophy, Cornell 
University. Ginn & Co., Boston and London. 

Selected Essays from Sainte-Beuve, edited, with Introduction, Bibli- 
ography, and Notes, by S. R. Effinger, Jr., Instructor in French in Univer- 
sity of Michigan. Ginn & Co., Boston and London. 

The Pilgrim, and Other Poems, by Sophie Jewett (Ellen Bur- 
roughs). Macmillan & Co. 1896. 


On the evening of Monday, March 2, a wind-instrument concert was 
given in the chapel by members of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. 

The freshmen attempted to hold a class meeting after luncheon, on Fri- 
day, March 6, for the adoption of their Constitution. Ninety-eight, how- 
ever, was rather noisily present, and Ninety-seven increased the confusion by 
endeavoring to protect the young. The freshmen could hardly have accom- 
plished much. 

A reading from the Iliad was given in the chapel, at three o'clock on 
the afternoon of Saturday, March 7, by a member of the Boston School of 


In the Physical Lecture Room, at four o'clock on the same afternoon, 
Professor Whiting repeated, by request, her lecture on the Roentgen light, or 
" X-Rays." Many students who had been unable to attend before took ad- 
vantage of this opportunity, and the room was filled to overflowing. 

Dr. MacMillan of Allegheny, Pennsylvania, preached in the chapel on 
Sunday, March 8. 

On the evening of Monday, March the 9th, Mrs. Mary Livennore ad- 
dressed the students. An informal reception was held afterwards in the 
faculty parlor. 

A mass meeting of the students was held in the chapel, Wednesday, 
March 11, Miss Young, the president of '96, acting as chairman, and Miss 
Gordon, the president of '97, as secretary. A change in the size of the col- 
lege pin, as proposed by '98, was the subject of debate. It was moved that 
the college pin be hereafter two thirds of the present size. The supporters 
of the motion argued that such a pin would be more comely to the sight 
than the present large and more conspicuous pin ; also, that being cheaper, 
it would be moi'e generally worn. The price of the new pin had already 
been estimated as three dollars and seventy-five cents, the price of the old 
being five dollars. Motions to leave the choice between the two sizes to the 
discretion of each student or each class were lost. The original motion was 
finally carried by a majority of seventy-nine. The question, however, is not 
thus entirely settled, but must now be laid before the alumnae in June. 

On Sunday, March 15, Rev. Mr. Tuttle, of Amherst College, conducted 
services in the chapel. 

On the afternoon of Monday, March 16, the seniors gave a reception to 
the Faculty in the Art Building. 

Monday evening, March 16, Mademoiselle Szumowska, known as 
Paderewski's favorite pupil, gave a piano recital to an enthusiastic audience 
in the chapel. 

The Class of '99 held its first meeting for the election of officers, Friday, 
March 20. Miss MacFarland was elected freshman president. 


The Agora held its annual open meeting in the gymnasium, Saturday 
evening, March 21, presenting the Eleventh National Nominating Convention 
of the Republican Party. The programme rendered was as follows : — 

First Day, evening session : Convention called to order by temporary 
chairman. Report of Committee on Permanent Organization. Permanent 
chairman takes the chair. Presentation of the Gavel. Resolutions offered. 

Third Day, morning session : Report of Committee on Resolutions 
( Platform ) . Adjournment . 

Fourth Day, evening session : Roll call of States for nomination of 
presidential candidates. Rising vote for candidates. Adjournment. 

The audience was requested to join in the rising vote, and the contest at 
the end was very close, — Thomas B. Reed being finally elected by a majority 
of one. Many of the speeches given were extremely good imitations of po- 
litical oratory. In every way the Agora is to be congratulated on a success- 
ful and interesting meeting. 

Professor Twitchell, of Hartford, preached in the chapel on Sunday, 
March 22. 

The girls at Fiske Cottage gave an entertainment to their friends, Mon- 
day afternoon, March 23. Farces from William Dean Howells and John 
Kendrick Bangs were well rendered, and received with applause. 

At half past six on Monday evening the Class of '97 held a Fudge Party 
in the gymnasium, for the benefit of the College library. A small admission 
fee was charged at the door, and fudge, together with other kinds of college 
candies, was on sale during the evening. "Living Gibson Pictures" were 
presented by members of '97. The affair as a whole was very successful, 
and brought in about ninety dollars for the needed books. 

Dr. Edward Clark, of Boston, gave a stereopticon lecture on Greek Art, 
at half past seven on Monday evening, March 23, under the auspices of the 
Classical Society. 

On Wednesday, March 25, college closed for the ten days of Easter 



The monthly programme meeting of the Classical Society was held Sat- 
urday, February 15. 

Latest News from Classic Lands. 
Architecture of Athenian Public Buildings. 
Homes of the People. 
A Great Athenian Artist ..... Maria Kneen. 
Illustrated Talk on Art Treasures 

of the Acropolis . . . Florence E. Hastings. 

A regular meeting of the Phi Sigma Society was held March 7, with 
the following programme : — 

Shelley's Life and Personality. 

Biographical Sketch .... Ellen D. Smith. 
Shelley's Personality as seen in his 

Letters Amelia M. Ely. 


The Development of Shelley's Genius. 

A regular meeting of the Tau Zeta Epsilon Society was held in Society 
Hall, on Saturday evening, March 14. The programme was as follows : — 
Paper : Cambridge .... Elfie Graft*. 

Sonnets from Wordsworth . . . Miss Boutelle. 

Paper : Ely ...... Warrene Piper. 

Paper: Norwich, Peterbourough, York . Edith Butler. 

At the regular meeting of the Zeta Alpha Society, March 14, the fol- 
lowing programme was presented : — 
The Institutions of Russia. 
The School System of Russia . . . Mary Montgomery. 

The Greek Church Josephine Hay ward. 

Russian Fairs Margaret Wheeler. 

Russian Art Margaret Henry. 

Current Topic : The Salvation Army . Miss Shackford. 

Miss Katharine Wetmore, '97, and Miss Grace Hoge, '98, were initiated. 



A regular meeting of the Shakespeare Society was held on Friday, 
March 20, in Shakespeare Hall. The following programme was presented : — 

Helen Capron. 
Florence Bennett. 

Gertrude Rush more. 
Ada Belfield. 

Constance Emerson. 

Shakespeare News ..... 
Shakespeare and Browning as Humorists . 
Heroes in Shakespeare and Browning, 

Henry V. and Caponsacchi 
Ideal Women : Hermione and Pompilia . 
Dramatic Representation, Henry IV. Act 

II., Scene 4. 
A study of Villainy, Iago and Guido 
Dramatic Representation, Macbeth, Act II., 

Scene 2 ; Act V., Scene 1. 
Miss Flora Skinner was initiated into the Society. 

The Agora held an open meeting in the gymnasium on the evening of 
Saturday, March 21. The Eleventh National Nominating Convention of the 
Republican Party was presented. 

A regular meeting of the Classical Society was held Saturday, March 21, 
with the following programme : — 

Latest News from Classic Lands. 

Literary Life in the Ports of Athens. 
Discussion of the Pre-eminence of Athens in, 

a. Oratory ..... 

b. Philosophy ..... 

c. Drama ..... 
Selections : 

a. From an Athenian Orator. "Ar- 

raignment of Eratosthenes," Sepe- 
tas ...... 

b. From an Athenian Dramatist. 

" Iphigenia in Tauris," Euripides. 

Margaret Morgan. 

Edith Ames. 

Marcia Smith. 

Professor Chapin. 

Grace B. Townsend. 

c. From an Athenian Philosopher, 
" Phtedon," Plato 

Bertha Smith, 
Elizabeth Abbe. 

Isabel Thyng. 


Saturday, April 11. — Lecture. Cecilia Waern. 
Sunday, April 12. — Dean Hodges. 
Monday, April 13. — Lecture. President Andrews. 
Saturday, April 18. — Reading. Mr. Riddle. 
Sunday, April 19.— Rev. B. D. Halm. 

Monday, April 20. — Lecture. Hamilton Gibson. » 

Sunday, April 2(3. — Rev. G. W. A. Stewart. 
Monday, April 27. — Concert. 
Sunday, May 3. — President Hyde. 
Monday, May 11. — Reading. Mr. Powers. 
Saturday, May 16. — Samuel Thurber. 


In accordance with the method of procedure adopted last June, by the 
Wellesley Alumna? Association, the following circular was issued in January. 
The voting ballot will be reported in the next number of the Magazine. 


In pursuance of a vote of the Alumnse Association, the undersigned have 
been appointed a Committee to present to the alumnae of not less than three 
years' standing names for nomination to the Board of Trustees, in number 
equal to six times the number of vacancies to be filled, in addition to the 
name of the outo-oinff trustee eligible for re-election. 

The vacancy to be filled on Commencement Day, Tuesday, June 23, 
1896, is one for the term of six years, in place of Mrs. Adaline Emerson 
Thompson, '80, who is eligible for re-election. 

The Committee are prepared to receive ballots for nomination, which 
must be sent to them before April 1, addressed to Miss Katharine Lee Bates, 
Wellesley, Mass. Nominating ballots received later than April 1 will not 
be counted. 

Each ballot should contain the names of not more than two candidates, 
chosen from the list of seven names herewith presented, and must be signed 
by the voter who offers it. The names of the two candidates receiving the 


highest number of votes will be placed on an official ballot, for use in the 
coming election ; and a copy of this official ballot will be sent to every vot- 
ing alumna before May 1. 

All Wellesley graduates of not less than seven years' standing are eligi- 
ble as Trustees, with the exception of members of the College faculty. 
Graduates of not less than three years' standing are qualified to vote. 

Additional nominations of candidates, which will also be placed on the 
official ballot, may be made by certificate, signed by not less than thirty 
alumnte qualified to vote. All such certificates must be addressed to, and 
deposited with, the chairman of the Nominating Committee before April 15. 
Blank certificates may be had on application to the chairman. 

The present Committee, in explanation of their ticket and choice of data, 
would call the attention of voters to the following points : — 

1. That neighborhood to Boston renders a Trustee more available for 
committee work. 

2. That educational experience, and especially a knowledge of other colle- 
giate institutions, constitute a valuable contribution to Trustee deliberations. 

3. That executive experience, ability in speaking, judgment, energy, 
and a wide-awake interest in the progress of Wellesley are counted as especial 

4. That an effort has been made to represent in these nominations the 
later classes, as well as the earlier, of the eleven (79-89) from which 
Trustees may now be elected. 

5. That it has been deemed inexpedient to repeat, on this nominating 
ballot, names presented on the ballot of two years ago. 

6. That church connection becomes of peculiar importance, in view of 
the fact that the Board of Trustees cannot have a majority of any one de- 

A list of the present Board of Trustees is appended. A blank ballot is 

Katharine Lee Bates, '80, Chairman, 
Edith S. Tufts, '85, Secretary, 
Harriet L. Constantine, '89, 
Caroline L. Williamson, '89, 
Belle Sherwin, '90, 

January, 1896. Committee. 



Mrs. Aualixe Emerson Thompson, B.A., '80. Congregational ist. 41 

Chestnut Street, East Orange, N. J. 

Mrs. Thompson took her seat on the Board of Trustees at the February meeting, 1895. 
She had previously held for several years the Presidency of the College Settlements Associa- 
tion, and had served as President of the Woman's Club of Orange. She is accustomed to 
public speaking, and experienced in business matters and executive work. Mrs. Thompson 
has had exceptional opportunities to keep in touch with Wellesley interests through the succes- 
sive studentships of her four younger sisters, the last of whom was graduated in '92. 


Miss Lizzie D. White, B.A., '81. Congregationalist. Williamstown, 

Miss White has at different times since her graduation held the positions of Secretary of 
the McCall Auxiliary, Treasurer of the Boston Branch of Collegiate Alumna;, and Assistant in 
the Treasurer's office of Williams College, gaining from the last a somewhat intimate knowl- 
edge of college administration. She has also spent a year in Europe, has carried out certain 
regular lines of study, and has been actively engaged in club and church work. 

Mrs. Isabella French Bigelow, B.A., '83. Methodist. 813 West 

Lovell Street, Kalamazoo, Mich. 

Mrs. Bigelow, in the three years immediately following her graduation, made a record as 
an able teacher of Science and Mathematics at Abbott Academy, Andover, Mass. In the fall 
of '87 she became Principal of Michigan Seminary, Kalamazoo, holding the position until her 
marriage in '92. She has since been elected a Trustee of Michigan Seminary, and continues to 
serve the institution in that capacity. During the year '80-87 she held the Presidency of the 
Wellesley Alumna; Association. 

Mrs. Helen Barrett Montgomery, B.A., '84. Baptist. 219 Fulton 
Street, Bochester, N. Y. 

Mrs. Montgomery taught in the High School of Rochester, '84-85, and in the Wellesley 
Preparatory School of Philadelphia, '85-87. Since her marriage she has conducted in Roch- 
ester and vicinity classes in History and Literature, which have been largely attended; and has 
successfully appeared as a public speaker upon literary and religious subjects in many of the 
eastern towns and cities. Mrs. Montgomery is recognized as one of the leading women in her 
own section of the country. 

Mrs. Harriet Peale Towne, B.A., '85. Congregationalist. Holyoke, 

Since graduation Mrs. Towne has traveled somewhat extensively in this country and in 
Europe. For several years she taught History and Literature at St. Mary's Hall, Burlington. 


Notwithstanding the claims of home life, Mrs. Towne bears an active and helpful part in the 
work of the church and clubs with which she is connected. Her knowledge of Wellesley has 
been freshened through a younger sister, who took her degree in '95. 

Prof. Elizabeth Slater, B.A., '88, M.A., '93. Baptist. Mount Holyoke 
College, South Hadley, Mass. 

Miss Slater supplemented her Wellesley course by a year of Greek in the American School 
at Athens, and by a second year of study and travel in France and Germany. For two years 
she served as teacher of Greek, French and German at Science Hill, Shelbyville, Ky., and for 
the past four years has held the chair of Greek at Mount Holyoke College, where her work and 
influence are highly valued. 

Mrs. Mary Edwards Twitchell, B.A., '89. Presbyterian. 214 Sixth 
Avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Although Mrs. Twitchell has been but seven years out of college, she has made an excel- 
lent record as a teacher in " Woodside," Hartford, and in the Horace Mann High School of the 
Teachers' College, New York City. This last position she held for three years. Since her 
marriage, in '93, Mrs. Twitchell has continued to render most efficient service to the New York 
Wellesley Club. Before this association, and also before the Cambridge Club of Brooklyn, she 
has several times presented literary papers. 


Alexander McKenzle, D.D., President of the Board. 
Alvah Hovey, D.D., LL.D., Vice President. 
Mrs. Pauline A. Durant, Secretary. 
Alpheus H. Hardy, B.A., Treasurer.- 
William Claflin, LL.D. 
Mrs. Mary B. Claflin. 
William F. Warren, S.T.D., LL.D. 
Elisha S. Converse. 
D wight L. Moody. 
Miss Lilian Horsford. 

Mrs. Alice Freeman Palmer, Ph.D., L.H.D. 
Horace E. Scudder, B.A. 
Edwin Hale Abbot, M.A. 
William Lawrence, D.D. 
Edward L. Clark, D.D. 

Mrs. Julia J. Irvine, M.A., Litt. D. (ex officio), President of the College. 
Mrs. Louise McCoy North, Well. B.A., '79, M.A., '82. Alumna 
Trustee (1894-1900). 


Miss Estelle May Hukll, Well. B.A., '82, M.A., '92. Alumna 
Trustee (1894-1898). 

Mrs. Adaline Emerson Thompson, Well. B.A., '80. Alumna Trustee 

On Saturday, March 21, Miss Ida Benfey gave a recital, under the 
auspices of the New York Wellesley Club, at the Berkeley Lyceum Theatre. 
The recital was for the benefit of the Students' Aid Society of Wellesley, 
Miss Benfey, in her interest in the needs of the College, generously con- 
tributing her services. The programme for the afternoon consisted of 
dramatizations from Victor Hugo's " Les Miserables, and "The Middle 
Hall," by Ruth McEnery Stuart. 

Prof. Elizabeth Denio gave a lecture on " The Madonna in Italian Art," 
March 5, at Denison House. 

Miss Vida D. Scudder is giving a series of lectures at the home of Mrs. 
Lucinda Prince, '91-93. Miss Scudder gave a lecture on Shelley before the 
People's Union, March 24. It was enthusiastically received, and the discus- 
sion that followed was unique and good. 

Miss Charlotte Conant, '84, and her sister Miss Martha P. Conant, '90, 
spent Easter vacation in Boston. 

A programme is issued by Dr. H. S. Paine, and Sarah Potter Paine, 
'84, of Glens Falls, N. Y., announcing their proposed annual European tour 
for 1896. Their itinerary is suited to the time of the summer vacation, and 
embraces the chief points of interest in England, France, Switzerland, Italy, 
and Germany. 

Mrs. Verna Sheldon Hicks, '85, intends to visit Europe this summer, 
with her husband, Professor Hicks, of the University of Missouri. She will 
take her little son and daughter. 

Miss Nella G. Robbins, '83-85, returned on steamship Yucatan via 
Havana, from her visit to Mexico, landing in New York, March 30. 

Mrs. Annie Barrett Hughes, '86, is living in Chicago, at 6246 Madison 


Miss Laura Parker, '88, Miss Ford, '91, and Miss Furber, '92, are 
planning a trip abroad this summer. 

Miss May Banta, '89, has been spending the winter in Brooklyn, N. Y., 
at 144 St. James Place. 

Mrs. Sylvia Foote Gosnell, '89, is living at 85 Niagara Street, Lock- 
port, N. Y. Mr. Gosnell has charge of the First M. E. Church of Lockport. 

Miss Sarah H. Groff, '89, is studying Latin at the University of Penn- 

Miss Gertrude James, '89, and Miss Maude Taylor, '91, are teaching in 
the High School, Portland, Ore. 

Miss Katherine Lane, '89, spent Sunday, March 22, at Wellesley. 

Miss Emma S. Pleasants,' 89, teaches a few hours each day in the same 
school with Miss Louise Pinney, '89, Los Angeles, Cal. 

Miss Emma Teller, '89, spent ten days with her classmate, Miss Grace 
Andrews, the last of March. 

Miss Caroline L. Williamson, '89, spent January, February, and March 
in Florida and Georgia. 

Miss Mary Orton, '90, spent March 8 at the College. 

Mrs. Evarts Ewing Munn, '87-90, writes: "I have just reached home 
after a most delightful trip through the Hawaiian Islands, and a charming 
visit in hospitable Honolulu. I saw Mrs. Mabel Wing Castle, Miss Maude 
Millard, and Miss Agnes Judd, and one bonnie Wellesley baby girl, Eleanor 
Henry Castle." 

Miss Mary Barrows, '90, was at the College March 6. 

Miss Mabel G. Curtis, '90, Secretary and Treasurer of the Wellesley 
Alumnaj Chapter of the College Settlements Association, has raised over 
$77.00 for the repairs at Denison House. This money has come from 
members of the Alumnse Chapter in the vicinity of Boston. 

Miss Myrtilla Avery, '91, came to Boston with a class from the Albany 
Library School, and stayed at Denison House, 93 Tyler St., during the 
Easter vacation. 


Miss I^ffie Bant a, '91, Brooklyn, N. Y., and Miss Caroline Perkins, '91, 
Taunton, Mass., called at Denison House late in March. 

Miss Elizabeth Wardwell, '91, and Miss Isabel Morgan, '92, spent the 
vacation in Boston. The presence of Miss Avery, Miss Minnie Morss, Miss 
Wardwell, Miss Morgan, and Miss Wall, in Boston during the vacation, 
made a Cottage Street reunion possible. 

Miss Juliet Wall, '91, spent a week, March 12-19, in Providence, R. I. 

Miss Augusta Whitney, '87-91, is studying music with Miss O'Brien, 
and teaching music in Boston. Address, 64 West Rutland Square. 

Miss Grace Mix, '91-92, spent the Sunday before Easter at Wellesley. 

Miss Alice W. Kellogg, '94, sails on June 6 for South Africa, where 
she is to teach Greek and English in the Huguenot Seminary at Wellington 
and to edit a temperance paper. 

Miss Alice I. P. Wood, '94, is teaching in New York, in the school for 
girls conducted by the Sisters of Saint John the Baptist of the Episcopal 

Miss Beatrice Stepanick, '95, is principal of the High School in Alma, 

95 Rivington Stkeet. 
The latest undertaking of the New York College Settlement is a night 
school. On Monday and Tuesday evenings there are classes in United 
States history, current news, English, and travel. Each course of study 
is to last six weeks. 

Miss Dora B. Emerson, '92, is conducting a class in physiology for the 
school-teachers of the neighborhood. 

Miss Elizabeth H. Peale, '95, spent the early part of March at the 

Miss Ada S. Woolfolk, '91, is expected for the Easter holidays. 

The College Glee Club contributed greatly to the pleasure of the Thurs- 
day evening party of March 9, at Denison House, 93 Tyler Street, Boston. 


An addition is to be made to Denison House this spring, and Wellesley 
people have already manifested an interest. All are welcome to a share in 
the part which the W. A. Chapter of the C. S. A. have chosen as theirs, — 
namely, the expense of the hard-wood floor for the ground-floor room. Any 
of the former students of Wellesley or their friends who would like to con- 
tribute may do so through the chapter. A large part has already been paid 
in, and there is just enough left for those who want a share. Mabel Gair 
Curtis, Secretary and Treasurer W. A. Chapter, C. S. A. 

A very enthusiastic Wellesley meeting was held in Los Angeles on the 
afternoon of March 28. The time was spent in greeting old friends and in 
meeting new ones, relating interesting experiences of college days, discuss- 
ing recent changes, singing Wellesley songs, etc. The coming together of 
Wellesley people in this tar-away land, across the continent from Alma 
Mater, has proven so enjoyable in the past two or three meetings held, that 
on this occasion it was decided to form a Southern California Wellesley 
Club. Mrs. Mary Merdiam Coman, '84, of Pasadena, was elected president, 
and Miss Bertha Lebus, '91, of Los Angeles, secretary. The Club is to be 
very informal, and of a purely social nature, its main objects being to ac- 
quaint Wellesley girls with each other and to keep them in closer touch with 
college life. 

^» v 


Lindsay-Brown. — In Philadelphia, April 9, 189G, Miss Anna Robert- 
son Brown, '83, to Samuel McCune Lindsay. Mr. Lindsay is a professor in 
University of Pennsylvania. 


March 2, 1896, in Binghamton, N. Y., a son, Lucius Haynes, to Mrs. 
Lillian Haynes Fowler, '90. 



202 to 212 Boylston Street, and Park Square, 


In Every Department. 


Young Ladies' Jackets and Gapes, 

Tailor Made Covert Coats . $18. 
Lined throughout with fancy silks. 

New Dept. for Ladies' Suits » t»*. 

Special Line of Street Costumes, all 
on silk, equal in every way to order 
work . . . $33.50 to $42. 

Serge Outing Suits . . . $18. 

New Designs in Bicycle and Golf Suits, 
from $18 to $35. Our most popular 
line, $25 Jackets, silk lined. 

'OUR attention is called to our assortment of 

Jewelry and Silverware 


ARTICLES for the Toilet Table and 
Writing Desk, in artistic patterns, 
a specialty. 

The newest designs of Fancy Jewelry, 
Hair Ornaments, Fans, and Opera 
Glasses in stock. 

We respectfully invite you to visit our store, whether you purchase or not. 

A. StOWell & Co., 24 Winter Street, Boston. 

Cotrell & Leonard 

New York, 

Makers of 

Caps and 

To the 

American. . 

Illustrated ... 

Catalogue and 
Particulars on 

Artists' Materials . . . 

£k Drafting Instruments. 
Art Studies and Books. 

Oil and Water Colors, Crayons, Materials 
For Tapestry, Painting, etc. 

Wadsworth, Howland & Co. 


82 and 84 Washington Street, Boston. 

Branch Store in the 

Grundmann Studios, Clarendon Street, 
Near St. James Avenue. 

Principal Factories 

Maiden/Mass., and South Paris, Maine. 



Mackintoshes and Cravenettes, 


S2.00 TO S25.00. 

IHellesley Preparatory, 

Prices 25 per cent lower than Dry Goods Stores. 

. . . Special 1U per cent to Wellesley Students . . . 



Metropolitan Rubber Co., 

Miss Charlotte H. Conant, B.A 


Miss Florence Bigelow, M.A. 


Gloves and Veiling. 



Calls the attention of the Young Ladies to her stock of Kid, Undressed Kid, and Dog Skin Gloves that 

are suitable for all occasions, also her very becoming stock of Veilings, and solicits their 

patronage, and will give to any of the students 6 per cent discount. 

Hotel Bellevue, 



Special attention given to Club Dinners and Receptions. 




matnematical Instruments, 

Colors, Drawing Papers, Blue Process Papers, T Squares 

Scales, Curves, Triangles, and all kinds of 

Architects' and Engineers' Supplies, 


. . AT . . 

Frost & Adams Co. 

Importers, Wholesale and Retail Dealers. 

New Catalogue free on application. 
Special Discount to Students of Wellesley 


OF BICYCLES %m <m <m ><h <m >j* -<h 


and others. 

There are no untried devices 
in J 896 Columbias. & Every 
detail has been perfected by 
at least a year's use. •£• J- & 

Beautiful Art Catalogue for 1896 
of Columbia and Hartford Bicy- 
cles is free if you call upon any 
Columbia agent ; by mail from 
us for two 2-cent stamps. 


Factories and General Offices, Hartford, Conn. 

Branch Stores and Agencies in almost every city and town. 

If Columbias are not properly represented in 

your vicinity let us know. 

Shreve. Crump \ Low Co. 
Jewelers - Siiversmitus. 


Fine Stationery. Card Engraving. 

Programs and Invitations, both printed and 
engraved. Class Day Programs a specialty. 

Class Pins designed and manufactured to 

Parasols and Umbrellas made to order, re- 
covered and repaired. 


. .ONLY. . 

First Class Tfiroii Car Route 


Through Trains Leave Boston as follows : — 
8.30 a. m. (ex. Sunday) Day Express. 
10.30 a. m. (daily) Chicago Special. 
2.00 p. m. (daily) North Shore Limited. 
3.00 p. m. (ex. Sundays) St. Louis and 

Chicago Express. 
7.15 p. m. (daily) Pacific Express. 


. . FOR . . 

Hartford, New Havens New York. 



9.00 a. m. 

(ex. Sunday) 

3.30 p. m 

11.00 a. m. 

(ex. Sunday) 

5.28 p. m 

12.00 Noon 

(ex. Sunday) 

5.32 p. m 

4.00 p. m. 


10.00 p. m 

( New Equipment built by the Pullman Co.) 
11.00 p.m. (daily) 6.41a.m. 

For tickets, information, time-tables, etc., apply 
to nearest ticket agent. 


General Pa a en go Agent . 


Speaking of Shoes . . 

Have you seen the new line of Ladies' 
Shoes and Slippers we have just received 
for the fall and winter trade? We have 
them in the following styles : Needle, 
Razor, and Opera Toe, with and with- 
out extension soles. 


Odd Fellows Block, 



344 Washington Street, Boston. 
Manufacturers of Fine 

Athletic Supplies.^ 

Every requisite for 

Boating, Tennis, 

Basket Ball, Golf, 
and the Gymnasium. 


Beautiful illust'd catalogue 
sent free to any address. 

The Dana Hall School, 


Pupils are prepared for regular or for special courses at 
Wellesley College. 

Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the school year; 
Tuition for day pupils, $125. 

For further information address the Principals : 

Julia A. Eastman, 
Sarah P. Eastman. 

mUellesle^ jpbarmaq?, 



Pure Drugs and Medicines. 

Physicians' Prescriptions a Specialty. 




Opposite Railroad Station, Wellesley. 

Flowers and Plants of the choicest varieties for all 
occasions; Palms, etc., to let for decoration. 

FLOWERS carefully packed and forwarded 
by Mail or Express to all parts of the United 
States and Canada. 

«S* Orders by mail or otherwise promptly attended to. 
Connected by Telephone. 



in all Departments 
of Literature . . 

can be found at our store. The largest 
assortment in Boston of the popular and 
standard authors. Also a large variety 
at special reductions. Large variety of 
Bibles, Prayer Books, Booklets, etc. 

We are noted for low prices. 


The Archway Bookstore, 

361 «*» 365 WASHINGTON ST., BOSTON. 


Cottage Street, 

Do all kinds of Bicycle Repairing at short 

New wheels made to order. 

Bicycle frames "Baked Enameled" in the 
best manner, at reasonable prices. 

All work will receive prompt attention and 
be executed by first-class workmen. 

" MANHATTAN " and other first-class 
tires always on hand. Call for and use 
"Manhattan" tires. They are the best, 
and the best is the cheapest in the end. 


Have secured the Wellesley Agency for the 


and invite intending purchasers to visit their new store on Worcester Street, near Wellesley 

Hills Square. 


335 Washington Street, Boston. 

College Athletic and Gymnasium Outfitters. 


Crew Sweaters and Jerseys, which are also suitable for all athletic purposes, made to order in any 

style in the best manner 
A Discount ol 10 per cent is given Wellesley students on individual orders. Special net rates for crew or team orders. 

We have a good stock of 

Veilings, Ribbons, Kid Gloves, 

Hosiery, . Cretonnes, . Drapery Muslins, . and all kinds of Embroidery Silks. 

We do Stamping at Short notice. «0 per cent Discount to all Wellesley College Students. 







Session '95-96 opens October 1, 1S95. Four years, Graded Course. Instruction 

by Lectures, Clinics, Recitations and practical work, under supervision in Laboratories 

and Dispensary of College, and in N. Y. Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of 

the City Hospitals and Dispensaries open to Women Students. 

For Catalogues, etc., address 


321 East 15tH Street, New York:. 

The Fisk Teachers' Agencies. c. * v I a* 

* ohoes for Young Ladies.. 

4 Ashburton Place, Boston, Mass. 

70 Fifth Avenue, New York City, N. Y. 

1242 Twelfth Street, Washington, D.C. rivmngciiini Qtirtfic 

355 Wabash Avenue, Chicago, 111. vJY HI II (IS 1U IT] SlIOcS, 
25 King Street, West Toronto, Canada. 

420 Century Building Minneapolis, Minn Walking SllOCS, 

107 Keith & Perry Building, Kansas City, Mo. » » 

728 Cooper Building, Denver, Colo. p» . c l_ 

525 Stimson Block, Los Angeles, Cal. Party 5>ll0eS. 

Fine Millinery, 



21 Temple Place, Boston. 

H. W. DOWNS & CO. 

143 Tremont St., Boston. 


French Hats and Bonnets, 

together with a choice selection of Foreign and 
Domestic Novelties for spring and summer. 

Also, full line of Dressmakers' Supplies. 

Special Discount to all Wellesley Students. 


Cor. Washington and Winter Sts., Boston. 

A Convincing Argument 

In favor of trading in Natick is the convenience of access 
by the electric cars, which run every half hour; also in 
the larger packages the saving of expense by express, 
breakage, delays, etc. 

H. W. DOWNS & CO., 143 Tremont Street. 

In my Framing Department I will allow a discount of 10 
per cent to Wellesley College Students. 

J. E. DeWITT, 


Books, Stationery, and Art Supplies, 

Also Manufacturer of 

Picture Frames, Mats, etc. 
No. 2 Main Street, NATICK, MASS. 


@ Ladies' Sailor and 
• ® English Walking Hats 

exclusive styles. Of our own importation. 



All the latest styles in Narrow, Medium, and Wide Toes. 
Special attention given to making shapes recommended by leading surgeons. 
Button and Lace Boots and Oxford Ties, in Black, Russet, and Patent Leather. 
The largest assortment of Bicycle and Tennis Goods to be found in Boston. 
Party and Graduation Shoes in great variety. 

Discount to Faculty and Students of Wellesley College. 

T. B. 7V^OSEI_EY St CO., 

469 Washington Street, Boston. 



THE PLACE where all the best makes of French and American Corsets and Waists can be found, 

and at prices from one dollar upward. 
WE FIT our Corsets and Waists perfectly to the wearer before she leaves our parlors. We know 

how, and we take the time to do it. 
WE MAKE ALL MODIFICATIONS necessary to secure a perfect fit, and we help you to determine 

which Corset or which Waist is best suited to your individual case. 
MADAME GORDON will give you her personal attention, which fact alone guarantees perfect fitting 

UNDERWEAR — The daintiest designs imaginable. You will delight in our Underwear. Nothing 

commonplace. Exclusive designs. Complete sets for summer. 


In every department of our store we allow Wellesley Professors and 
Students a discount, generally 10 per cent. 

We deliver all goods free of express charges at Wellesley College and Dana Hall. 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends at home 
would be glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 

are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount applies 
to every department. 


Tremont Street and Temple Place, - - BOSTON, MASS. 

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Ladies' and Children's 

Specialty Garment House. 

Young Ladies' Coats, Suits, 
Wraps, Fur Capes, Mackin- 
toshes, and Cravenette Gar- 

The Latest Paris and Berlin Novelties 

always in stock 

at moderate prices . . 

531 and 533 Washington Street, Boston. 

Next door to Boston Theatre. 

Frank Wood, Printer, Boston.